Star Trek: The Four Years War Book 1
by Stephen Fender
Summary: This book will cover the first year of the Klingon's war against the United Federation of Planets, known as the Four Years War, which took place prior to the events of Star Trek: The Original Series by almost a decade. This is mostly derived from FASA material. Please visit my webiste to download the edited 'novel' version of the book.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

April, 2250

Stardate: 3801.15

Incoming subspace communication….

FROM: Commodore Victor Basta, Commanding Officer, Starfleet Intelligence, Klingon Sector, Starbase Twenty-Three.

TO: All Commanding Officers, Galaxy Exploration Command.

VIA: Admiral John Murdock, Commanding Officer, Starfleet Command, San Francisco, Earth

SUBJ: STARFLEET INTELLIGENCE OBSERVATIONS REGARDING KLINGON EMPIRE

1. It has come to the attention of Starfleet Intelligence that an increasing number of concerning reports have been transmitted to them from stations and starships near the Federation-Klingon border, in regards to Klingon ship movements in the area, which Intelligence now feels will requires their specific observance. While the nature of these movements continues to remain unclear, be assured that—at this time—there is no concrete threat facing us from the Klingon Empire.

2. In recent months Starfleet Command has made a high priority of strictly monitoring the status of any ship, be they friendly or not, along the Klingon neutral zone. At this time there is insufficient evidence to produce observable patterns to the regularity of any threat forces inside this zone.

3. Under no circumstances should any starship Commander bring his vessel into the neutral zone, nor should they travel too close to it, lest they provoke the Klingons into further actions or hostilities.

4. Starfleet Command, working in close co-operation with Starfleet Intelligence, is continuing to monitor the Federation borders and is investigating anything that may be considered out of the ordinary for this zone of space.

5. Starbase commanding officers, as well as starship Captains, are henceforth ordered to investigate any such irregularities or occurrences—as long as such investigations are performed within the guidelines as set forth by the Federation Council.

6. The results of any such investigation made by any starbase or starship operating in regard to threat forces—or perceived threat forces—near the neutral zone should be transmitted to Starfleet Intelligence once any initial debriefing has occurred within their respective chains of command.

7. More detailed instructions for the transmission of this data to Starfleet Intelligence will be provided shortly.

June, 2250

Stardate 3806.05

"Having fun watching the paint dry?" The voice was soft, but there was more than a hint of amusement in the tone.

"Yes, actually, I am"

Dr. Jeff Richards never once looked up from his microscope to formally acknowledge the voice asking the question. He didn't need to. He could pick out the melodious sounds of his wife, Juliee, in a room filled with jabbering scientists having a dozen different conversations at once.

It was her voice that had initially attracted him to her. She had been speaking at a science conference on the topic of algae—or more specifically—the molecular composition of several different species of it and how they all worked in unison to help form breathable air. It wasn't the topic that had piqued his interest in her. He had simply been walking by the auditorium that sunny day at Starfleet Academy, quietly on his way to his quantum physics class, when 'the voice' had mesmerized him, stopping him dead in his tracks. Of course, it also helped that the voice was attached to such a beautiful and intelligent woman.

After the initial rituals associated with any new dating couple they had quickly fallen deeply in love with one another. When Jeff had received orders to Arcanis IV three years to the day of their first date, Juliee was delighted. She'd been aching to leave her instructor post at the academy and get back into the field, back out into some _real_ research. It was their drive to find something new, something that had never before been seen, something that could help countless worlds and millions of people that had driven the two scientists. A chance to get off of the Earth and onto the virgin soil of a new world was a dream come true for them both.

That had been four years ago.

Arcanis IV had been a choice location for them both. Jeff was assigned the task of developing a new form of Thermocoat—the type of heat resistant paint that adorned all Starfleet's vessels. Juliee was given the assignment of studying how various plants and algae's are affected in zero and near-zero gravity conditions. The pressure domes that encircled the small research outpost were quite comfortable, and the interior climate of the habitat models could easily be changed to allow Jeff to study the effects on his various thermocoat compounds, while other domes could just as easily be adapted for Juliee's work.

"This new form of thermocoat is just about ready." Jeff said, not bothering to look up from his microscope. "It's almost at the point of total cohesion with the Duranium."

"You know, I love it when you talk all technical" came the voice.

Jeff couldn't help but smile. He turned away from the microscope to see his wife standing in the open doorway. She was grinning from ear to ear. Jeff couldn't help but offer a sheepish smile in return. Juliee had the uncanny ability to turn the brilliant Dr Jeffery Richards into a warm pile of, well, thermocoat.

"What's on your mind, hon?" he inquired. "Or did you just come down here to ask me what I want for dinner? If that's the case, I'd like your famous beef stew with an extra helping of carrots."

Juliee entered into the room as the door silently swished shut behind her. She strode softly over to her husband, rubbing the palms of her hands together, as if she was nervous. Jeff could tell something was on her mind.

"What's wrong?" he asked her.

Juliee seemed to hesitate for a few moments, looking down to her feet and shuffling a bit. "What do you think about becoming parents?"

Jeff blinked once, then twice, then a few more times. He was shocked. Well, not entirely shocked. They just hadn't talked about children for some time. "Wow. Are you….pregnant?" It was all he could muster. He was thankful he was still sitting. He seemed to need a very glass large glass of water that—to his recollection—was nowhere in sight.

"No, silly. Not yet, at least." she said as she walked to him. She ran her fingers through his slightly graying hair. It amazed him that, in the short amount of time between her entering the room until the moment where she was at his side, that she could have become twice as beautiful as before.

"So, you want me to be the father of your children?" He asked, staring at her ever widening smile. He broke out in laughter as he got up from his chair. He grabbed his wife, the love of his life, and whisked her off of her feet, spinning her around several times before letting her down.

"Well," she started. "I don't know about children in the plural, but I think at least one new Doctor in the family would be nice."

"You think he or she will take after their boring scientist parents? What if they decided to become rebellious and do something like join Starfleet and become the Captain of some great_ interplanetary_ vessel?" He asked, ending his question by bringing his hand to his forehead in a grandiose salute.

"I'm sure we'd still be proud either way." she laughed, her arms around his neck, her lips inches from his. He kissed her softly, not with a kiss of passion, but with one of unrelenting love for this wonderful woman who captivated him so. "Don't forget about your paint, dear." Juliee said, her eyes darting past her husband to his microscope and then back to him.

"It will dry on its own whether I'm watching or not. Maybe we can start working on that family plan right now?"

"That's precisely what I had in mind, _mister_." She said with an impish grin.

July, 2250

Stardate 3807.26

The _U.S.S. Bohr_, a _Hermes_-Class scout vessel, glided along effortlessly through the vastness of space. She was not an aggressor—like her big sisters the cruiser, or even her close cousin the destroyer. Her shields were not as strong as a combatant, but she had never been designed to be a heavy hitter. She was, however, purposely built and she served that purpose with distinction.

Like most vessels in Starfleet's inventory, she was adorned with the distinctive saucer shaped section as her primary hull. Atop her saucer, raised slightly—as if it were a small bubble dome on top of the disk—sat her bridge. Directly below her bridge, on the ventral side of the saucer module, was her active scanning and particle deflection system. Looking every bit like the satellite dishes of two-hundred years ago, it was attached to the lower portion of the saucer section by a movable armature that allowed the scanner to rotate freely in almost every direction—save for directly up.

Rear of the particle deflector was the horizontal neck that extended down and aft of the vessel. At the bottom of this neck was the tried and true FWC-1 warp engine nacelle. Cylindrical in shape and slightly longer than the primary hull, it was capped at one end with the softly glowing red dome of its Bussard collector, and the aft end of the nacelle was capped by the space matrix restoration coils.

With no torpedo bays and only two phaser banks she was, by no means, a serious threat. She was, after all, only a scout vessel that could—at times—be called upon for light exploration duties. Those duties could take the little vessel into uncharted territories, possibly leading to first contact with an advanced civilization and—if the cards were just right—put her name in the history books for all of time.

Unfortunately, this was not to be the case for the _Bohr_ on this particular voyage. In fact, the routine of this patrol seemed to be getting on the nerves of just about every crewman onboard. What had they done to deserve this? Was it something the Captain had said or done that had upset some Admiral on some starbase in such-and-such a quadrant? Why were they out in the hind-end of space, nowhere near anything remotely exciting, running up and down along a border that never seemed to have action in the right place at the _Bohr's_ time? The ship had received the regular communications from Starfleet Intelligence just like everyone else, but it just never panned out for the little _Hermes_ class scout. The _Bohr _was never where she wanted to be, only where the brass told her to go. Such is life in Starfleet sometimes.

"Captain on the bridge."

The doors to the turbolift hissed shut behind Captain Northon as he entered the command area of the ship. He glided slowly to the command chair, which was not an easy feat for him considering the journey was only a few meters and he had quite long legs. Upon reaching the chair he had a second thought about sitting in it. He gave it a good looking over—as if he had never seen it before, and wasn't sure of his trust in its stability. He swiveled it slightly on its base, and then ran his hand along the oak armrest of the thing. He tried to imagine the chairs armrest _not_ ending in a series of blinking lights and switches, each of those toggles of technology in turn leading to more work for the tired skipper of a small vessel with nothing better to do in the backwoods of Federation space. At last he steadied the chair and sat down, but he took his time in doing so…as if the cushions themselves were covered in hot coals.

While only a few moments had passed since Northon had entered the bridge, the Captain knew that his crew expected him to say something. Not that he had anything important to say—or anything to say at all, really. Protocol did, however, demand that something be said. He had entered the bridge, and his crew was trained to give him updates when he did so, whether he wanted to hear them or not. He had duties to perform and, regardless of the pointlessness of it all sometimes, he did feel a need to keep the traditions alive. '_For the crew's sake'_, he would tell himself. _'…to keep morale up.'_

Captain Edward Northon of Earth, Commanding Officer of one of the most powerful scout vessels in the vast region of nothing he found himself in. Mighty king of a sand dune in the middle of a desert with no oasis's for three sectors.

'_Fantastic._', he thought to himself.

"Status report, Mr. Sanders."

Lieutenant Junior Grade Mike Sanders, never even glancing up from the blinking lights of the helm station before him, took in a deep breath before answering his esteemed skipper. "On course for waypoint three, sir. Estimating arrival in one-point-five hours at present speed."

There were a series of waypoints that the Bohr had to patrol. Once a particular point was reached, they set course for the next point and continued on. Normally a picket patrol was organized around a box structure. There were four waypoints total, with the two points nearest the Klingon boarder being overlapped by other Federation scouts on either side of the _Bohr_. The _Bohr_ had been running up and down the border of Federation space, just outside of the Klingon Empire, for two months now. To the Captain, however, it felt as if they had been out here for three times that amount. Some crewmembers would even occasionally grumble to one another that they felt as if they'd been out there for a year.

Unfortunately, unless Northon or the other scout Commanders changed their schedules, it could be anyone's guess as to whether the _Bohr_ and the other scout vessels would visually see each other when they reached the same patrol point in space. Captain Northon thought of it as Christmas when this happened. '_At least we have something to look at now'_.

"Mr. Retnold, what are the sensors telling us this fine morning" the Captain tried to keep the overwhelming excitement out his voice.

Bob Retnold, Lieutenant, Science Officer…and slightly overweight. '_Might want the doc to check up on this one. If we get into close hand-to-hand combat at some point, this guy is going to be more of an anchor than an asset._'

"Nothing out of the ordinary, Captain."

"Well, give me all the details of what you would consider '_ordinary_'. While I'm sure we've all heard this song before, I also know it's been quite some time since we've heard it, so let's go over all the numbers and—_for heaven's sake_—let's pretend this is exciting, people."

The red shirted Chief Engineer, leaning on the Communications Officers switchboard behind the Captain, let out a muffled laugh. Lieutenant Commander Burrows was a good engineer, but would have made a far better boxer. Tall, bulky, with a haircut so high-and-tight that one could cut their hands trying to comb through it, and with fists that could strangle the life out of a tree trunk, the Captain often thought that Burrows had missed his true calling in life. None the less, the laugh was what the Captain was aiming for, _'…to keep morale up.'_

Retnold exchanged glances with Burrows, the two sharing a faint smile, and he turned back to his instruments. "Short range scanners show nothing out of place, skipper. There are fifteen particles of space dust per cubic meter. There are no abnormal gravitation fluctuations. There are also no vessels in the immediate area. Long range sensors show…wait a minute? What the hell?"

"What is it?" The Captain asked, his curiosity slightly piqued.

Retnold was moving his hands over his station, just as a skilled chef would work a deli counter. He might be a bit overweight, but he certainly knew his equipment. Now Northon was really intrigued.

"Well, Lieutenant? Report."

"Sir, we have three ships heading towards us— possibly on an intercept course. Sensors show that they are traveling at warp three. Assuming we stay on our present course, time to intercept should be approximately forty-five minutes. And sir, they are heading out from within Klingon space."

The Captain looked to large view screen ahead. While it only showed the vastness of space and the occasional star streaking by at low speed, he knew better what the viewer really said. There was something out there looking for the _Bohr_.

"Can you get a positive scan of the vessels?"

"Not yet, sir," Retnold said, working his console. "They are still too far away. Sensors do report, however, that there are three vessels, design and hull types are unknown, and they are definitely on a direct course from outside of Federation space."

Captain Retnold began stroking his chin. It wasn't something he did very often. He was nervous, and this is how his body reacted to it, but the last thing he wanted to do was to let the crew know what was going on inside his stomach. He had to remain in control. This is what all of his years of command training came down too. This was the moment that the _Bohr_ had been waiting for. This was their moment to shine and to impress.

"People, I'm not about to become a sitting duck for some trigger happy Klingons looking for an easy kill, so let's not wait for them to intercept us. Plot a direct course to intercept the intruders at the location where they will cross into Federation space. Communications Officer, send a coded message to Starfleet Command. Give them our precise location and inform them that we are heading off of our assigned patrol area to investigate a possible Klingon intrusion into Federation space. Helmsman, plot a course to the neutral zone and engage at warp four. Mr. Burrows, I'll need you down in engineering. If things get tight we may need to get out of this situation quickly."

"Aye, sir!" came the chorus of replies from the bridge officers. They went to their tasks like skilled bees hovering around a beehive, each with his own purpose and mission. They knew their jobs and knew them well. '_Good people,_' Retnold thought to himself as he surveyed the bridge. '_Now, let's just see what these Klingons are looking for._"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

January, 2251

Stardate 3901.11

"Captains Log; Supplemental. After two weeks of surveillance and study, we have completed our initial scans of the recently discovered quasar that is ten- parsecs from the Rigel system. Due to the interference caused by the phenomena, the _Irwin_ has been out of communication range with Starfleet Command for the last five days. I am pleased to report that the officers, crew, and the attached scientific observers have all worked flawlessly together and our mission was a complete success."

Lying prone on his bed, Captain Bob Watts tossed his personal data recorder to the table. Unfortunately, his aim was off slightly and metal recorder bounced off of the silver metal finish on the table top, landing squarely on the floor.

"Fantastic." He muttered to himself. Resigning himself to pick up the recorder at another time, Watts gave the fallen recorder and annoyed glace, then put his head back down to his ever so soft pillow. He was looking forward to getting some much needed sleep. It seemed that he had been on near constant duty since the beginning of this mission almost a month ago. There had always seemed to be a fire to put out between his crew somewhere. If the scientists weren't arguing over who would use such-and-such sensors first, his crew was busy constantly aiming and adjusting those same fine point sensors to give the picky scientists all the readings that they were hoping for. In the end, however, it had all worked out for the best. The mission was a complete success, and the scientific observers were, at this moment, probably down in the galley toasting Champagne to their own successes. Captain Watts had neither been invited to such festivities, nor did he care to attend them. His bed was his reward, and a good night's sleep was the only thing that he wished to imbibe in at the moment. He rubbed his eyes, stretched out his arms, and then placed his hands neatly behind his head and—.

"Captain Watts, there is an emergency communication coming in for you." The lieutenants voice was preceded by the traditional computer beeping that told the Captain that there would be no rest for himself in the next few minutes. The officer's words, although spoken softly, did nothing to underscore the importance of what she had said. _Priority One_. Indeed, there would be no sleep for quite awhile.

The Captain got up from his bed and, after a heavy sigh, moved slowly over to the computer terminal a few meters from his bedside. With a quick push of the intercom button below the monitor, the image of the communications officer appeared on the small screen. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Put it through to my quarters."

"Aye, sir." and with that, her image was replaced by that of an older gentleman—one that Bob Watts knew quite well. The face that stared back at Watts was that of Commodore John Perry, Commanding Officer of Starbase Twelve. The Commodore began to speak before Watts could even acknowledge that he was receiving the transmission.

"Good evening, Captain. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time?"

Watts looked down his uniform, half expecting it to not even be on. He was so exhausted that he hadn't even taken it off before he had gone to bed.

"No, sir. It's no bother at all. I was just finishing my log entries for the day."

"I see." The stoic face of the Commodore remained. "Are we on a secure channel?"

Captain Watts, without even looking, pressed a second control below the computer monitor, which was followed by the traditional sound that indicated the communications channel was now encrypted and that the two men were now able to speak freely.

"It is now, sir."

"Good. Bob, we have something of a…_situation_, and I need your help to resolve it."

"Situation, sir?" Watts was more awake now than moments before. Starship Captains are taught to fear the Priority One communication—or at the very least—accept that when you received one that there was always a huge responsibility behind it.

"Yes, and the word 'situation' is probably an understatement. Sector Intelligence has just informed me of a large force of Klingon ships moving towards Federation space near your location."

_Klingons?_ Watts thought to himself. "That's a bit unusual sir, seeing as we haven't heard much from them in quite some time." Sure, The _Irwin_ was close to Klingon space, almost too close for Watts' liking. But the reclusive Klingons had kept pretty much to themselves for the past few years without as much as a peep.

After a brief pause, The Commodore returned "You mean…you haven't heard? It hit the civilian communication networks three days ago." he finished with a somewhat inquisitive look.

"I'm sorry, sir. We've been out of communication range for several days. Our communications officer is still sifting through all of the message traffic that piled up during our silence." But then something more terrifying—a feeling of coldness—came over Watts. He imagined briefly what that old President of the United States must have thought the moment he had received the phone call that the naval base at Pearl Harbor had been attacked. Watts swallowed hard. "What's happened, sir?"

Commodore Perry light out a soft sigh, then looked around—as if to see if anyone was watching over his shoulder. Of course, the communications channel that they were on was secure, and there didn't seem to be anyone else in the room with Perry, but perhaps it was just a subconscious human reaction to have right before you delivered grave or serious information.

"Last month, our research complex on Archanis IV was attacked."

"_Attacked_, sir?" _Ah_, Watts thought. _This is making more sense_. "By Klingons?"

The volume of the Commodores voice was now even lower, which Watts immediately understood to mean there was a more underlying severity to the message. "Honestly, Bob, Starfleet Command doesn't know. Starfleet Intelligence thinks so—although they've put up an information freeze since someone leaked the information to the civilian broadcast networks two days ago."

"I see." Watts responded. "Casualties, sir?"

It seemed as if the Commodore had been holding his breath the entire time. He let out a large exhale of breath…as if the weight of the words he was about to say were on his chest like a ton of bricks.

"All one-hundred and fifteen personal attached to the outpost."

"My god…"

"No one was spared." Perry said, shaking his head in disgust. "Women…children…even their pets. It was a total _massacre_."

"What does the Federation plan to do about this?" Watts asked.

"That's just the thing, Bob. We can't do anything about it—yet. The Federation council doesn't have all the information that it needs to formulate any kind of official statement for these events—let alone dictate how we should handle the Klingons themselves. All we know for sure is that there is strong proof that the Klingons _are_ responsible."

"And you think this Klingon fleet that is approaching this sector is the beginning of an invasion force? Is that what you're saying?"

"Captain, I hate to repeat myself, but Starfleet Commands official answer is: We don't know." Then the Commodore leaned in closer to the screen, as if to add more weight to an already heavy message. "If you want my personal opinion on this, Bob, I'd say the Klingons are out to try some new weapons they've developed and are looking to pick a fight. And it's a fight that I don't think the Federation can win, at least not right now, anyway. I think the real reason why no one in the council is going to do anything about this is because they are going to sit on their hands until the officers in the field can get more solid information."

Watts nodded his head slowly in approval. "I see, sir. What are you orders, Commodore?"

Perry leaned back in his chair, as if to signify that the personal portion of the conversation was over and that it was time to get back to official business. "Take the _Irwin_ to the Rigel system and see if those fine-tuned long range sensors of yours can give us some insight as to the make-up of this Klingon force. We need as much information as you can get, Captain. I don't want anything dismissed or overlooked."

"Of course, sir. You can count on us."

"I knew I could, Bob. Perry at Starbase Twelve, out."

March, 2251

Stardate 3903.07

Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco, Earth.

The weather had turned—and it hadn't been for the better. What had been forecast as a beautiful spring day had suddenly—and almost without warning—turned into what seemed like a very fitting day for late November.

Captain Robert April looked out across the wide open waters of San Francisco bay, gazing at the small swells in the ice gray water as they slowly became white capped crests. As he leaned against the well polished wooden guardrail, he could hear the waves lapping softly at the concrete pilings below him. Robert wondered to himself if the technicians at Starfleet Engineering would ever get this new weather modification net up and running correctly.

After a few more minutes at the rail, Robert took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Maybe he'd been breathing the re-circulated air aboard the _Enterprise_ for too long, he thought. With her first five year mission under her belt—and a stellar performance in doing so—it had felt good to be home.

"Well," he softly said to himself "here goes."

Captain April strode slowly from the pier, across a small grass field and, by the time he had reached the main entrance to Starfleet Command, his stride had become even and his posture was confident. After exchanging pleasantries with the secretary of the Commander in Chief of Starfleet, April was directed to a conference room on the third floor. As he walked down the long corridors to his destination, April wondered if anyone was ever going to change the drab colors of the inner walls of this place. Monochromatic shades of gray never impressed upon him the importance of this building. _Perhaps something in a tan or beige_?

As soon as Robert approached the doors to the conference room, they characteristically swooshed open, and then abruptly shut behind him just as quickly. Admiral John Murdock, Starfleet Commander In Chief, was seated at the head of a long table, flanked on either side by several high ranking officials. Some of the faces were familiar to April—some were not. They were all wearing their respective formal branch uniforms, each decked out with enough 'fruit salad' on their chests to feed a small colony. April had never been one for awards or accolades, and neither required nor bragged about the decorations he had received. All that he required was out there…in the star filled sky high above the Earth.

"Ah yes, Robert." Murdock began. "Thank you for coming on such short notice." The Admiral then gestured to an empty seat opposite him. "Please, won't you sit down?"

"Thank you, Admiral."

Robert pulled up his chair and, without hesitation, Admiral Murdock began the briefing. His voice was soft, but the inflection was unmistakable. This is someone who had the most commanding presence, with a voice that said 'listen to me as if your life depended on it', even when he was only talking about the status of something as mundane as the kind of coffee the replicators were producing.

"Captain April, most of the introductions have already been made, but let me go around the table once more. I believe you know Commodore Basta, from Starfleet Intelligence." Murdock gestured to the man sitting on his left. Commodore Victor Basta was a tall man, almost lanky, with silvery hair and soft blue eyes. April had met him some years ago, when Basta was in command of the science vessel _Ballard_. April had always thought fondly of Basta, but had never felt fondly about the things that were purported to go on in Starfleet Intelligence at times. _Too many unanswered questions when it came to those people_, April thought to himself. Murdock continued.

"To his left is General Maxwell Groetz, Starfleet Marines. And to the General's left is Commander Bethany McAllister, Starfleet Special Forces."

April's eyes moved to Groetz. He had heard of the man—or, more specifically—Robert had heard of his tactics. Some of them had even become required reading at Starfleet Academy. The General was a brilliant tactician, with an eye for exotic antiques, some had said. It was rumored that he boasted the finest collection of late Seventeenth and early Eighteenth-century Human furniture in existence, not to mention an impressive library of texts on all of the historic military figures for the past two centuries. However, it had seemed to April that Starfleet Command was feeding their staff too much. Groetz looked as if his uniform was about to break at the seams at any moment, and Groetz could only manage a simple nod in acknowledgement to his introduction.

Captain April then glanced at the woman. Commander Bethany McAllister, Murdock had said. From Starfleet Special Forces Command, no less. She was slight of build, with seemingly long brown hair that had been pulled up into a tight bun on the top of her scalp. While she wore the red dress uniform skirt that was typical of women officers these days, April knew that she was not just any everyday Yeoman that you could request a hot cup of coffee from. Her green eyes sparkled with intensity—almost as much shine as the glint from the gold Special Forces insignia that was on her tunic, which itself sat just above an impressive array of ribbons and medals.

"Captain." She said, adding a slight inclination of her head as she and Robert locked eyes.

"A pleasure, Commander." He returned.

"Alright,' Murdock continued. "Now that we've gotten all the formalities out of the way, and all of the players are on the field, let's get down to business. Commodore Basta, if you please?"

"Of course, sir." Basta stood up and moved to a large view screen on the wall. "As you all know, this briefing is classified as top secret. There is no higher classification in Starfleet than this. What is said in this chamber must never be repeated to anyone outside of this room—including speaking to those members you see seated before you." And with that he withdrew a data cartridge from within his red jacket and inserted it into the data cartridge slot below the screen. He pressed a blinking blue button and a map of the Klingon Empire—and it's relation to Federation space—appeared on the screen.

"Starfleet Intelligence has been monitoring the Klingon Empire with increased interest over the past twelve months. We have noticed a dramatic increase in their shipbuilding efforts, as well as noting several new classes of cruisers and destroyers rolling off of the Klingon assembly lines." Basta pressed a small button near the screen and the image changed once again to show the diagram of a new Klingon cruiser. It had a bulbous bridge, which was connected to a secondary hull by a long thin neck. Extending down and aft from the secondary hull—on what could almost be described as outstretched wings—were the two warp nacelles. Basta continued.

"Intelligence is calling this ship a D-7. She has forward firing energy torpedoes, disruptors, and extensive primary and secondary shielding."

Murdock cut in. "A battle cruiser?"

Basta said, almost too cheerfully "Precisely."

April could see where this was going. The information that he had been summoned to this very meeting to relay was going to directly tie in with the news of the Klingon's new arsenal of weapons.

Basta continued. "There are several new designs, most of which we are only _now_ becoming aware of."

Robert, in a moment of impatience, said aloud "This has something to do with Arcanis, doesn't it?"

Basta immediately stopped speaking and all eyes moved to April, as if he had just dropped a bomb in the center of the room. Groetz loudly cleared his throat and, after a brief silence, Admiral Murdock was the first to speak.

"Since the proverbial cat is out of the bag, let's have the meat and potatoes of your report, Commodore Basta."

Basta again pushed a button near the screen and a diagram of the Arcanis system. "On stardate3806.020, the scientific station at Arcanis IV was completely destroyed. All personnel were killed and all of the computer systems were summarily stripped of their data. Starfleet Intelligence believes that this was the work of Klingons. Their motive: Possibly testing out the feasibility of their new weapon systems and vessels."

There was a brief silence. Robert was the first to speak. "And we plan on sending out a counter- strike force to meet this threat, correct?"

Again there was silence. Admiral Murdock broke the silence. "Captain April, please listen to the rest of the briefing. All your questions will soon be answered. Commodore Basta, if you will continue, please."

Basta punched up another diagram on the screen. Now in the center of the screen was the neutral zone which buffered space between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. Basta motioned to the south-west quadrant of the screen.

"Some months ago a federation starship, the _U.S.S._ _Irwin_, located a large fleet of Klingon vessels heading directly towards the neutral zone. This group has since been assigned the code-name 'Group-U'. About the same time another ship, the light cruiser _U.S.S._ _Rutherford_—while on a routine patrol of the neutral zone several parsecs away—identified a second large group of Klingon vessels, also presumably heading for the neutral zone. We have given this second fleet the code name of 'Group-R'."

"_My god_." General Groetz quietly exclaimed, almost too soft for anyone to hear.

"We estimate the total forces to be in excess of two-hundred and fifty vessels, not including auxiliary ships." Basta finished.

Admiral Murdock took that cue to begin his segment of the briefing. "We are moving all available starships and personnel from their normal patrol areas in order to counter these new threats. The majority of our forces will be sent to Starbase Twenty-One, with Starbase's Fourteen and Fifteen picking up the remainder of our fleets. Commander McAllister, you will command the Special Forces detachment at Starbase Twenty-One. You've been given the rank of Captain for the duration of this assignment, and you will report directly to General Groetz. This is effective immediately."

"Yes, sir." came the quick reply from McAllister.

Murdock continued "Starfleet Command does not know the true purpose of these fleets. All we do know is that the Klingon fleets will each reach the neutral zone before we have amassed a sizeable counter defense. If the Klingons should choose to violate the neutral zone for any reason, we will be at a state of war with them, weather we are ready for them or not. I don't think I need to remind anyone in this room of the fact that we are not equipped to sustain a prolonged campaign at this time. War with the Klingons—while it may become eventual—must be postponed as long as possible."

April spoke up "Sir, I can have the _Enterprise_ back out in space and on the front lines within a month. The _Constitution_ should be coming home within the next thirty days and we could probably turn her around just as quickly."

"I understand, Captain—and thank you. I've authorized putting some haste into the construction of some additional cruisers, as well. We will need to get both the _Enterprise_ and _Constitution_ space worthy and ready for defensive maneuvers immediately."

"And Arcanis IV?" Robert asked. "How do we respond to that in the mean time?"

The room feel silent, all eyes eventually turning towards Admiral Murdock. "As I said, we cannot afford a conflict with the Klingons at this juncture. All it would take is one trigger happy helmsman to set off a catastrophe. We need to keep control over this situation, people. Until we can get more forces in the area, Arcanis will—regrettably—have to be forgotten for the moment."

"Admiral, that's _incredible_!" April spat. "All those innocent people killed, all those lives—"

Murdock was on his feet, glaring at April "In relation to the millions of lives that are stake, it will be a small price to pay, _Captain_." The utterance of his rank came from Murdock with the definite tone of superior officer over inferior one. "Captain April, you are commanded to take whatever actions you see fit and necessary to expedite the completion of the _Constitution_-class ships currently under construction. The completion of these projects is of the utmost priority right now. In addition to your new responsibility—and based in no small way on your exemplary performance during the last five years as master of the _Enterprise_—you are hereby promoted to the rank of Commodore. Rest assured, Commodore, that there will be a time for avenging the deaths of innocents later."

April tightened his jaw, wishing he could lash out. He wished that he could be the voice for all those who died on Arcanis and wished he was any place but here—in this room—with these _politicians_. Robert loathed the thought of war, but in the face of aggression he knew that the Federation needed to show some force of resistance to the Klingons—lest the destruction that occurred on Arcanis be replicated on other border worlds. The Klingons needed to know that the Federation wasn't going to take this lying down. In the end, however, Robert saw the futility of making his argument at present. He would not win this battle, especially since it seemed that he was now being pushed into a desk job. Robert's time would eventually come—although he hoped it would not come at the expense of other innocent lives.

"Yes, _sir_." April said.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

July 2251

Commodore April sat quietly at his desktop terminal. He was reading though a recent application to Starfleet Academy when his door chime rang. "Enter." He said without turning away from the screen. The door slid open with and in strode Captain Christopher Pike. April glanced up from his screen just in time for Pike to stop a few steps from his desk.

"Captain Pike, sir. Reporting as ordered."

April stood up and walked out from behind his desk and extended a hand to the starship captain.

"It's been too long, Chris." And with that, Pike reached for Aprils had and a small smile spread across both of their faces.

"It's good to see you, too, sir."

Pikes hand was firm under Aprils grasp. It was the briefest sign any man could make from one to another of the underlying confidence in a person. Pike's muscular build was strong and his stature was tall and upright. The very pinnacle of the best of Starfleet's strength, embodied by this one man.

"Please," April began after letting go of Pikes hand and motioning to an empty chair. "Have s sit, old friend."

Pike pulled up the chair closer to April's desk as the Commodore returned to his seat.

"Officer evaluations?" Pike asked, motioning to the active terminal on Commodore April's desk.

"Of a sort. I'm endorsing an application to Starfleet Academy for an old friend."

"Anyone I know?" Pike asked. He had known April for years, even having served with him as executive officer five years ago.

April was still looking at his screen. "Ever heard of George Kirk?"

Pike eyes shifted to the ceiling in a moment of thought. "Disappeared on a mission last year, right? Near the planet Hellspawn. He's a commander I think."

"Very good, Captain. He's not missing anymore. Seems he popped up about six months ago. It's all still rather classified. The reason I mention George is that the endorsement letter is for his son, James Kirk." And April turned the screen so that Pike could review it. After scanning the file, Pike looked to April.

"Well, the kid seems pretty sharp. Great aptitude results. Ever met him?"

April smiled and turned the monitor back towards him. After moment of silence, April said softly. "Yes, we've met."

Pike want to push the story further, but decided against it. April turned the monitor off.

"But, this isn't why I called you hear, Chris. I understand the Yorktown just completed a two year survey of boarder worlds near Romulan space."

Pike folded his hands together and placed them in his lap. "Yes, sir. We successfully surveyed over sixteen new worlds, and twenty seven new star systems. We believe that almost a dozen of those systems and worlds have an enormous amount of resources to help bolster the Federation."

Aprils smile broadened. "That's amazing, Chris. I was reviewing your mission logs over the last few days. It was some extraordinary work you and your crew have done. Of course, I wouldn't expect anything less from a former first officer of mine."

Pike couldn't help but chuckle a little at the mention of his previous position. April saw on Pikes face the smallest hint of a recollection of those fond memories. Pike glanced over Aprils shoulder and through the transparent aluminum viewport on the Starbase wall. There, hung in space like a graceful trophy adorning a prize hunter's wall, was one of the finest ships in the whole fleet. The Enterprise. Pike then returned his eyes to the Commodore.

"She looks great, sir. It's been a long time since we've seen each other as well. Tell me, does she still have that little peculiar shudder when increasing from warp 3 to warp 4? Pike moved his hand in front of his face, simulating the warp bump.

It was Roberts turn to chuckle. He turned to glace out his view port. "Yeah." He said slowly. "Never could figure that one out."

"I must have tried to get Yorktown to do that a dozen times. I never could quite duplicate it."

April turned back to Captain Pike. "It's just one of those oddities, Chris. Every starship has her quirks. There has never been an engineer in Starfleet that could work out every bug in every system."

"In my opinion it's those same quarks that give each starship a personality of her own. It's her way of saying 'I'm unique. I'm special.' It's the voice of the thing, if someone could call it that."

April let out a full belly laugh. "Only hopelessly romantic starship captains like you and I, Chris."

With that, Pike's smile faded from his face. He leaned towards April's desk, and a hush came over the captain's voice.

"I heard that they've taken you out of the center seat, Robert." And Pikes eyes fell to his lap and then returned to stare at Aprils. "I was sorry to hear that we were losing the finest Captain in the fleet to a shiny desk with a good view."

April looked at Pike. Pike had noticed that Commodore April hand had been absently fumbling an orange computer cartridge. April took in a deep breath, and then let it out slowly.

"Even the dinosaurs had their day, Captain. Once, millions of years ago, they roamed Earth from sea to sea. They were the titans of their day. Now, they are just dust and bones and memories. It's the way of things."

Pike straightened back in his chair, a look of almost defiance on his face. "It's a damn crime, that's what it is. Starfleet needs good captains. Heaven knows, what with this Klingon threat, that we need all the help we can get out there." Pike motioned his hand over his shoulder. "This is no time to strike out our best players."

April, now fumbling the data cartridge with both hands, leaned back and looked at the disk thoughtfully.

"I know, Chris. That's why I called you hear." April looked at Pike and tossed the cartridge in his direction. Reactively, Pike caught the data disk without even thinking with one hand before it was two feet from him. "Reflexes like a cat. Something's never change, old friend." April said with a grin.

Pike examined the disk for a moment, turning it over in his hand. "What's this?"

April smile and got up from his desk. He headed over to a wall synthesizer and pressed a few buttons. After a moment, he reached inside and withdrew to glasses filled with a yellowish mixture. He handed one to Pike, then sat on the edge of his desk in front of Pike.

"Someone once said 'Politics is the art of preventing people from taking part in affairs which properly concern them.' Now, I've had a lot of debate with Starfleet command over the past few weeks, and as much as I detest politics, this is one decision that I didn't want anyone to make but myself." And with that he rose his glass in a toast. Pike raised his glass to meet Aprils.

"And to what are we drinking to, Commodore?"

"As I recall, you recently submitted a transfer to, shall we say, more adventurous fronts of space. Near…more interesting ports of call, yes?" April was baiting Pike, and Pike knew his old commanding officer to well. "Do you want the transfer or not?"

Pike's eyes went wide with excitement. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but hell yes I do. I can't stand planetary exploration. If I see one more geological survey and I'll go insane."

"And the Yorktown?" April asked.

"She needs a complete refit, sir. She'll be as good as new in six months, give or take."

April made a tisk-tisk sound with his lips. "Much too long for us to wait, Captain. As you said yourself, Starfleet needs good captains now."

Roberts otherwise thoughtful face turned utterly cheerful as it took on a broad smile from cheek to cheek. "So, raise your glass, captain. We are drinking to that very decision I just spoke of a moment ago. We are drinking to you, Chris. We are drinking to the former first officer who has come home." He looked into Pikes eyes and, raising the glass to his lips, said "To Christopher Pike. The new captain of the starship Enterprise."

Pike was astonished. Amazed, even. He had hoped fro a new command, but hadn't even dreamed he back aboard his old ship. He took the drink and swallowed hard with excitement.

"When I do report on board?"

April took the empty glass from Pikes hand without losing the intense stare they now shared with each other. "Immediately."

"And when do we get underway, sir?" Pike asked, now resuming his role as a Starfleet Captain.

"Again, immediately. Your orders are on the data cartridge in your hand. Top Secret. Captains eyes only. The Enterprise is fully stocked, fully armed, and is waiting for her new Captain as we speak."

Pike got up from his chair, standing straight at attention. "Thank you, sir. We'll be underway within the hour."

Commodore April got up and met Pike in another firm handshake. "You've done well, captain. You've earned this honor. The flagship is yours. You know, I was there when she was built. She was our home for many years. We learned her ways, her words, and he temperament. All I ask is that you treat her right. Do that and she'll always get you home."

"Of course I will, sir."

"Very well, Captain. You are dismissed." And with that, April felt as if he'd just given his only daughter away in marriage. Sure, he trusted Pike. He would even go as far as to say he admired him and saw something of himself in him. Enterprise just wouldn't be the same with anyone less than perfect in command, and Commodore April knew instantly that he had made the right decision in selecting Christopher Pike to replace him. He knew, somewhere in his heart, that when the time came for Pike to make that same decision, he would make the Commodore proud.

As Pike left Aprils office the Commodore turned back to his monitor and flipped the screen back on. "Well now," He said to the screen. "Let's just see what Jim Kirk can offer Starfleet." And with a simple push of a button, he forwarded James T. Kirks endorsed application to Starfleet Academy.

"*************************************************************************"

September, 2251

Incoming subspace communication….

FROM: Commodore Victor Basta, Commanding Officer, Starfleet Intelligence, Klingon Sector, Star base 23

TO: All Commanding Officers, Galaxy Exploration Command, Alpha Quadrant

VIA: Admiral John Murdock, Commanding Officer, Starfleet Command, San Francisco, Earth

SUBJ: OBERSVATIONS REGARDING KLINGON FLEET MOVEMENTS

REFERENCE: (A) Communication received, USS Rutherford, NCC-1835

(B) Communication received, USS Irwin, NCC-3903

Per reference (A), Klingon Fleet codenamed Group "R" has significantly altered its course. This fleet, consisting of approximately one-hundred and twenty-six vessels, is now holding stationary pattern eight parsecs from the Federation-Klingon neutral zone border, near Starbase 22. Their speed has reduced from warp 6 to warp 1.

Per reference (B), Klingon Fleet Codenamed Group "U", has significantly altered its course. This fleet, consisting of approximately one-hundred and eighty-three vessels, is now heading toward the area of space informally denoted as The Triangle. Current location is fifteen parsecs from Starbase 12. Their speed has also changed from warp 6 to warp 3.

Starfleet Intelligence is still gathering data on these fleets and their respective movements. As of this time, no significant threat force has entered Federation space.

Starbase 15 is nearing completion. Once this is achieved, Starfleet will have a major shipbuilding facility within striking distance of the neutral zone. Until such time, it is strongly advised that all commanding officers take any actions necessary to safeguard the state of non-aggression that currently exists between the Federation and the Klingon Empire.

Starship USS Enterprise, NCC-1701, Under command of Captain Christopher Pike, is placed in fleet command of all units operating in and near space of Starbase 12

Starship USS Hood, NCC 1703, under command of Captain Kenneth Dodge, is placed in fleet command of all units operating in and near space of Starbase 22.

All commanding officers are authorized to use any means necessary to transmit any pertinent or vital information in these areas to their respective fleet commanders immediately.

"*************************************************************************"

The Sawyer class clipper, USS Gulliver, NCC-2295, glided slowly from her berth at Starbase 14. She might have been one of smallest ships in the fleet, but she was extremely fast. What she lacked in size and armament she more than made up for in speed and agility. She was a simple design. The majority of the ship superstructure was contained in an elongated and cylindrical primary hull. Tapered at the aft end, the forward end was completely taken up by her navigational deflector. Jutting our gracefully from the sides of the primary hull at ninety degree angels were her main propulsion units, the linear style warp drive engines.

The ship was small by starship standards; only ninety-three meters at her longest and eighteen meters high. She mounted light phasers and a single photon torpedo tube, and she was more than comfortable for the thirty-five crewmembers that called her home.

Once such crewman was Lieutenant Alicia Pettant, the ships helmsman. Alicia had dreamed of entering Starfleet as a little girl growing up in the sprawling spaceport near Seattle, Washington on Earth. She had spent long rainy lights pouring over the lasted news feeds from the outer rim, and many summer nights watching the shuttles take off from the nearby ports as they headed off for ports that were, to her, as yet unknown. All she knew is that she wanted to be a part of it, part of the great exploration and adventure that Starfleet had to offer.

Unfortunately, the current mission that the Gulliver found itself on was neither adventurous nor even exploratory in nature. The Gulliver had been ordered to Axanar, the seventh planet in the Toredar system, for sociological evaluations. The Axanarian star, Epsilon Eridani, is quite visible from the surface of the earth, as the system is only 10.5 light years distant.Alicia knew of it, and had often gazed upon it when the cloudy skies over Seattle had given way to make the stars bright enough to shine through. Now there was no more wonder at what it might look like. She would be there in less than six hours away.

Captain Araxsis, an Edosian, sat in his command chair and surveyed the bridge. He had one hand on the armrest of his chair, another on a computer pad, and a third grasping a cup of coffee with the ships logo emblazed on it. It was always quite a spectacle to see the captain not only mentally multitasking, but doing it physically as well. He had just updated his captains log entry and handed the computer back to his Yeoman.

"Lieutenant Pettant, status report." He said in his high pitched voice. The pronunciations of his words were crisp and precise.

"On course, Captain. We will arrive at Axanar in twelve hours at our present speed of warp five."

"Thank you." Came the captains reply. He sipped at his coffee and gazed at the stars streaming past on the forward view screen.

Alicia spoke up "Captain, what do you think we should expect from Axanar?"

"I'm not sure, Lieutenant. That's why we were ordered out here. Starfleet thinks we may be able to get them to join the Federation. Federation research has concluded that their bodies produce a biochemical substance known as Triglobulin. This substance is a key ingredient to making several types of medicines and vaccines."

"Not to mention, quite a power aphrodisiac." Came the response from the science officer station.

Captain Araxsis glanced in Commander Lindbergers direction, then back at the view screen. "It seems to have that affect as well, Commander, yes."

Lieutenant Pettant spoke up again. "And The Federation wants to make them a member? I've been told that they are still in a state of sociological upheaval. They don't even have warp drive yet."

Araxsis, not wavering his attention from his coffee or the view screen said "Indeed. No warp drive yet. But we require their Triglobulin to make medicines that Starfleet believes will be sorely needed in the next few months. While we may not offer them membership in the Federation, we may have to make them a protectorate and being trade relations with them."

"Because of the Klingons?" Alicia asked.

At the mention of the word, Captain Araxsis shifted his three legs in the command chair. "We are here because we were ordered to be here, Lieutenant. This is not a mission on war; it is one of peaceful relations for a substance that is needed by the Federation. We will have no more talk of the Klingons, is that clear?"

Alicia could hear the sternness of his command. She could, however, almost denote an undertone of fear. No, perhaps that wasn't the right word. She knew that her captain would not fear any form of conflict. In fact, she would think he would be intrigues by it. But, he was an Edoan. Once they were given orders, they did not lend themselves to interpreting those orders for the benefit of the crew's speculations. They had a job to do, and the captain would see that they do it. All other concerns were secondary.

"Yes, sir." Lieutenant Pettant said briskly, and turned back to her station. "Quite clear."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

October, 2251

Stardate 3910.16

"Captains log: Supplemental. The _Xenophon_ has just completed shore leave, and I am pleased to report that the crew is well rested and again ready for duty. It's been a long three months of continuous patrols, and we are now heading core ward at warp four."

Captain Garth signed off from his long entry and handed the recorder back to his Yeoman. She was not unattractive, by Vulcan standards. She was tall and thin, and also disquietingly silent. She had always seemed to sneak up on Garth without his knowledge and it was unnerving to the Captain. He had—on more than one attempt—asked her to walk more loudly, to which she had replied "It would be illogical to act in a way contrary to the way my own body operates."

Garth sat straight and upright in the command chair of his _Marklin_-class destroyer and looked to the stars. To be more precise—he looked through them. He wished he was back among the stars of his home system, and often had a passing fantasy that he was on his way back home to Izar. But, as quickly as the dream had appeared he would push it aside. Such flights of fancy were not the stuff of starship Captains. He reminded himself he was in command, that shore leave was over, and it was time to get back to work.

Garth looked from the view screen to his engineering officer, seated to his right at his duty station. Darcy Farrell was hard at work—as usual. Garth could see that Farrell was making some slight adjustments to the matter-antimatter reactant mixture, fine tuning 'his' engines to maximize performance. To be sure, the _Xenophon_ was only a small scout vessel, but she was all they had, and to Commander Farrell she was as graceful and as beautiful as any cruiser or destroyer.

Garth smiled to himself. He had an amazingly well trained crew. He trusted his life to them, and over the past several years they had not let him down once. He had saved Farrell's life, as well as the lives of several other members of the crew, and some had done the same for him. Garth trusted them explicitly and they, in true Starfleet fashion, returned that trust to their Captain. '_Yes_,' Garth thought to himself '_They would give their all for their ship. I am proud of each of them. A fine bunch._'

"Mr. Farrell? Status of the warp drive?"

Farrell, his attention not wavering from the adjustments he made with his left hand and the buttons he pushed with his right, while his view remained locked on the status screen, didn't even hesitate to respond to the Captain's inquiry. "Almost got it, sir," and with one more button press he finished his adjustments. "There. Perfect… absolutely perfect." Satisfaction filled his voice.

"And what, exactly, is '_perfect_' Darcy?"

Darcy sat back in his chair, overly pleased with himself, and not hesitating to show it on his face with a wide smile. He turned to the Captain and said matter-of-factly "The engines are now perfectly balanced. We now have maximum efficiency at all speeds and in all power modes."

Garth let out a small laugh. "I'll bet you thought about making those adjustments for the last two days of leave, didn't you?"

Farrell looked at his Captain with an expression of mock shock. "The last _two_ days? More like the whole time we were planet side. I couldn't wait to get back up here to make these adjustments."

"Engineer, you were supposed to be resting, not thinking about working."

"Captain, I'll wager anyone on this ship that an engineer gets his best rest after peering through a stack of technical journals and mentally making a thousand adjustments while taking in the sun and sand on _Pinnacle_ Beach."

"Farrell, you would probably be the most relaxed person in a room full of cascading warp core failures." Garth chuckled.

Farrell unfolded his arms from behind his head and gestured his thumb at his chest "No warp core is getting ten micro-jules over operating specs while I'm on watch—to say nothing about going critical."

Garth smiles and turned his attention back to the forwards viewer. "Have no fear, mister. I believe you."

For the next ten minutes the bridge was its usual calm. No one seemed to make a sound. Garth could discern the soft vibrations of the deck plates under his feet, telling him his ship was cruising at faster than light travel. The soft beeping from the stations surrounding him was a constant source of calm for him. He found their sounds methodical and had often—in quieter times like this—tried to listen for patters in their rhythmic noises. It was the science officer that broke the silence.

"Captain, something strange on sensors."

Garth turned to his left to face the science station. Lieutenant Commander Toklow was hunched over his terminal looking into the long range sensor scanner.

"Define _strange_?"

After Toklow made some minor adjustments to the sensors he turned his head over his shoulder to face the Captain. "It appears to be a vessel, sir. It matches no known Federation design."

"Are they on an intercept course?" Garth asked with growing curiosity.

Toklow moved back to the sensor readout. "No, sir." Came the reply a moment later. "They apparently do not detect us yet."

"Can you decipher their course?"

Toklow, still looking at the scanner without moving his head, said slowly "It appears that they are headed for the Delta Orcas system, sir. Their current course will take them to within three hours of the planet Axanar, assuming they do not alter their course for that planet."

Garth look away for the science officer and back to the view screen. "Are we close enough for communications?"

The communications officer spoke up. "No, sir. They are just out of range."

"Very well. Helmsman, alter course to intercept. We are supposed to be alone out here…so I'd like to know who that is out there."

As soon as the Captain had finished his sentence Toklow spoke up. "Correction, sir. It appears we've been spotted. The unidentified target has altered course to intercept us. Estimate time to target in… five minutes, as long as we both maintain our current speeds."

"It seems my counterpart also has a bit of curiosity in him." Garth said smiling.

"Captain!" Toklow exclaimed. "Scan now coming in loud and clear from the long range sensors. That intercept course change nailed the lock I was trying to get on the intruder."

"What do we have, mister?" Garth said impatiently.

Toklow snapped his head toward the Captain. "One Klingon D-4 light cruiser."

"Klingons? This far in Federation space? Impossible!" Garth exclaimed. The _Xenophon_ was only two-weeks distant at warp five from the heart of the Federation. _How in the hell did a Klingon ship get this close to our core without being detected?_

Toklow turned back to his scanners and continued his update. "They're here, alright, and looking for a fight by the results from my scans. Their shields are up, and their weapons are fully charged."

Garth popped out of his command chair. "Slow to sub light! Shields up. Charge lasers!"

The _Xenophon_ slowed to impulse power just as the Klingon vessel did the same.

"Confirmed, sir!" Toklow said briskly. "D-4-E. Its range is two-thousand kilometers. She is fully armed and looks like she's maneuvering for an attack run."

"On screen!"

The D-4 loomed large on the screen. She was as graceful as she was deadly. She looked much like her big sister, the D-7 class heavy cruiser, but was much thinner all around, as if she was the more lithe and weaker of the two Klingon vessels. However, while she lacked the size of her contemporary, she still made for more than a match for the small _Marklin-_ class destroyer. The D-4 was thirty-thousand metric tons heavier than the _Xenophon_, and while that made little difference in space, it meant she had more hard points to carry larger and longer reaching weapons. She had five disruptor banks to the _Xenophons'_ four phaser banks. And, while she had no photon torpedo launchers like the_ Marklin-_class, the D-4 had a disrupter bank to cover her aft, just where the _Xenophon_ was dangerously vulnerable in that area. But to Garth, the weapons didn't matter as much as maneuverability and defense. The _Xenophon_ had stronger shields and was (as far as Starfleet Intelligence could say in their data charts) faster and could take more punches. Garth instantly wanted to press those advantages.

"The Klingons will be in weapon range in thirty seconds." Toklow said from his station.

"Give me full impulse power!" Garth said, leaning his hands on the navigators chair back. "Take us around her to port!"

"Aye, sir!" The helmsman responded.

The _Xenophon_ lurched from one-quarter impulse to full drive just as the D-4 opened fire. The enemy's disruptors struck a glancing blow on the ship's starboard shields as the _Xenophon_ zoomed passed the Klingon light cruiser. The Klingons didn't even bother to fire their aft weaponry. By the time she could get a lock, the _Xenophon_ was out of range and turning slowly to starboard.

"Sir," started the helmsman. "Hit to our starboard shields."

"Starboard shields at sixty-five percent, Captain." Farrell said from the engineering console.

Garth looked to Toklow. "Where is she?"

Toklow scanned his instruments and made some minor adjustments. "She's on our stern and coming around to port, Captain. Distance is fifteen-hundred kilometers. She's at full impulse. We will be in her weapons range…in thirty seconds."

Garth had to think fast. "Continue our turn to port, but decrease to half impulse. That should bring us to bear before that damn Klingon can get a clear shot."

"Aye!" the helmsman said.

As soon as the _Xenophon_ decelerated in her turn, the turn tightened due to the lack of inertia provided at full impulse. She was now aimed directly at the D-4_—_who was still in mid turn."

"Fire all forward phasers!"

Yellow beams of hot death spewed from the forward hull of the _Xenophon_. Two of the three shots struck the Klingon cruiser amidships before the _Xenophon_ sailed over her.

"Direct hit!" came the exclamation from the science station. "Her shields are down to forty percent, sir."

Garth barley had a chance to catch his breath before the bridge rocked with an impact hit. The Klingon cruiser had taken her own tight turn and had quickly come up on the _Xenophons' _stern.

"Aft shields down fifteen percent!" Farrell said. There was another hit on the _Xenophon_. "Now down twenty six percent!"

Garth seated himself back in his command chair and braced himself against his armrest. "Helm! Zigzag! Don't give him our tail to shoot at. Alternate between port and starboard turns!"

There was yet another hit on the _Xenophon_, but this one markedly less severe. "It's working, sir."

"But not for long." Farrell added. Our shields are failing all over the ship at this point. Captain, we may just be prolonging the inevitable."

"We need to get out of this position! We need to turn around and get behind this bastard!" Garth said to anyone who would listen.

"Captain." The helmsman said "I have an idea."

After listening to the Lieutenants' plan and getting a cautionary approval from the chief engineer, Garth was ready to implement the attack.

"Set all power to aft shields! Take it from life support if you have to. Set a course as steady as she'll muster, full impulse."

The _Xenophon_ sailed forward as straight as an arrow.

"Distance to Klingon target?" Garth asked.

Toklow checked the scanners. "Two-thousand kilometers and slowly increasing, Captain."

"Very well. When we reach twenty-five hundred kilometers I want to drop to one quarter impulse and perform a one-hundred degree high energy turn to starboard, dropping ten-thousand meters in the process. Is every one ready?"

"Aye!" came the sing song voice of everyone on the bridge in unison.

"Do it!"

Immediately the ship lurched forward, then hard to starboard as she fell through the stars. The Klingon ship sailed over the _Xenophon_ without scoring a single hit on the small Federation vessel.

"Engage full impulse!"

The _Xenophon_ lurched forward again, rocketing to a distance of five-thousand kilometers before the Klingon even knew what had happened.

"Alright." Garth said. "Now it's time to show him whose space he's in. Come about, helmsman."

The _Marklin_-class destroyer came about at half impulse. The Klingon_—_as Garth had surmised_—_had done the same. They were now forty-five hundred kilometers apart and heading straight at one another.

"All power to forward shields. Channel power from all other phaser banks to the forward emitters. We only need two shots for this to work, but we need to throw him everything we've got."

As the two ships sailed closer to one another, Garth could feel the sweat on his brow begin to thicken.

"Wait," he said "until the last possible moment."

As the D-4 loomed ever larger on the screen, it looked as though it would crash right into the _Xenophon_.

"Now!"

The _Xenophon_ turned to starboard just as the Klingon opened fire. All of the Klingon's shots missed, but the laser fire from Garth's vessel would not. Just as the _Xenophon_ passed the D-4 Garth exclaimed "All engines full reverse! Hard to port!" And with that, the _Xenophon_ entered what is commonly known as a Cochran Deceleration Maneuver. It put an enormous amount of strain on the hull as the ship went from nearly half the speed of light to an almost dead stop in a fraction of a second. A moment later, the aft end of the Klingon cruiser filled the view screen.

"One quarter impulse! Fire everything!"

One hot phaser blasts lanced out from the _Xenophon_ upper banks and struck the Klingon ship dead center. Her shields flickered once, and then faded completely away.

"Her aft shields are down!" Toklow yelled. "Aft disruptors destroyed!"

Garth leaned forward in his command chair. "Target the port warp nacelle and fire again!"

Another burst shot out from the _Xenophon_ and neatly severed off the warp engine of the Klingon's vessel. Due to the Klingon's inertia before the loss of her engine, she began to list and spin in a slow end over end tumble.

"We got her, sir!" Toklow exclaimed.

Garth leaned back in his chair. "Damage, Mr. Farrell?"

"Some slight shield buckling. Minor hull damage on deck five. Nothing major, sir."

Garth took in a deep breath. "And the Klingons?"

"Total systems failure, sir. She's dead in space."

"Very well. Communications officer, open a channel." Garth said, but the words were barely out of his mouth before the Klingon ship exploded in a ball of flame and debris. The view screen on the _Xenophon_ went white as snow, flickered several times, then revealed the empty blackness of space where the Klingon cruiser had been a moment before.

"What happened?" Garth asked to Toklow.

"It must have been a self destruct order, sir. We didn't hurt them badly enough to do that kind of damage. Most of her internal systems were intact right up until the moment of the explosion."

Garth mulled the encounter over in his mind. Out loud, and to no one in particular, he said "A vessel that size wouldn't have come this far on its own. There has to be more in the area, we just need to find them." He began rubbing his chin while keeping his gaze fixed on the forward viewer.

"Mr. Toklow? What is the nearest system to our current position?"

Toklow checked his sensors. "Axanar, sir. It's about eight parsecs away. That puts us in the Delta Orcas system in three weeks and four days at warp six."

"Then that's where we'll start looking. Communications officer, send a coded message to Starfleet Command about our confrontation with the Klingon vessel. Advise them we are heading to Axanar to investigate the possibilities of other enemy intruders in the vicinity."

"Yes, sir. Coding your message now."

"Mr. Farrell," Garth said "Your engines are as good as your word. Well done."

Farrell clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, assuming the position he'd had before the attack had begun. "Like I said, sir. Absolutely perfect."

Garth smiled at his engineer. "_Indeed_."

Two Weeks Later

"We have it in sight now, sir."

"Good. Can you get a positive lock on it with the transporter?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. Beam it directly to cargo area two. I'll be there shortly."

Captain Blackwell ran to the turbolift. As the lift came to a halt on deck five, he sprinted out of the doors a moment after they had opened. He jogged down the corridors of the _U.S.S._ _Bonhomme Richard_, knowing them like the back of his hand, and came to a stop in front of the doors leading to cargo storage area number two. He stopped at the door long enough to catch his breath, then walked through them.

The cargo room was empty, save for a few crates of emergency medical supplies that the ship was scheduled to deliver in the next week. The medical supplies had been neatly stacked against the far bulkhead to make room for the object now taking center stage in the middle of the hold.

What was once shiny deuterium was now marred with a black film and what looked like grease smudges. The object was cylindrical, about half a meter tall and about half as round. The top was capped with a small translucent communications dome and the bottom had three tripod legs jutting out at regular angles to keep the object upright. Directly in the center, barely visible through the charred outer casing and grease, were the remains of the logo of the United Federation of Planets.

The chief engineer was going over the object with his tricorder. "The recorder buoy is intact, despite the appearance of the outer shell, Captain. All internal systems appear to be functioning normally."

Blackwell folded his arms across his chest. Almost every officer in the fleet knew what this device represented: the last call from a ship that was destroyed or—at the very least—was so disabled that it's internal communications systems were rendered useless. "How soon until we can figure out which ship it's from?"

The chief engineer flipped closed his tricorder with a quick snap. "We should be able to download this to the ships computer and find out right now, sir."

"Then let's not waste any time. I don't like this at all, Chief."

"Right away, sir."

They walked over to the cargo bays computer terminal. The chief engineer pulled the data cartridge out of the tricorder and plugged it into the access port on the terminal.

"Computer." The chief engineer ordered. "Play back the message recorded in the storage drive."

"Working," came the reply from the computer, followed by a series of clicks and beeps as the computer accessed and translated the data in the drive. After a few tense moments the computer began its readout.

"Ships recorder log, Starship _U.S.S._ _Gulliver_, NCC-2295. Last entry by Lieutenant Commander David Jonas, Chief Engineer. Do you wish to hear the last recorded voice entry?"

The Captain walked closer to the computer terminal. "Yes," he said. He had never met the Captain of the _Gulliver_, but he had heard of the ship. He was anxious to know what happened to her. From the computer terminal came some static and popping sounds, indicating that some portions of the audio were destroyed. After a few seconds, however, a voice came though the speaker.

"Stardate… _U.S.S._ Gull… attacked by squadron of Klingon vessels… number of vessels attacking… is six. Some types are unknown. There was no warning… ships opened fired… no time to respond. Bridge crew… wiped out in first salvo. I assumed command from auxiliary cont… Sensors are down. There's no way to know if… Klingons present in the system. To anyone Federation starship who receives this, send a message to… base ten. Send a fleet to Axanar. Send a fleet to… "

There was what sounded like a large explosion and the message cut out.

Blackwell was staring at the computer terminal, almost speechless. His anger was quickly rising to a boil. He walked briskly over to the wall terminal and pressed the intercom button.

"Bridge, this is the Captain. Set a course for the Planet Axanar in the Delta Orcas system. Maximum warp."

"Yes, sir. Right away."

Blackwell turned to face the recorder buoy. It was all that was left of a once great ship. Her crew had given their lives for the Federation. Blackwell decided that it was time for the Federation to repay that honor.

"So…there it is. _Klingons_. You want a fight? Well, you've got one coming."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

November, 2251

Stardate 3911.14

"Sir, incoming message from the _Bonhomme Richard_."

Garth was at the science station when the communications officer's voice had sounded. He walked over to the communication station and placed a hand on the communications officer's shoulder.

"Let's hear it, Lieutenant."

"The message is coded, sir; Captains eyes only."

"I'll take it in my quarters. Mr. Toklow, you have the bridge."

Garth exited the turbolift on deck four and jogged to his quarters. Usually it was unsightly for a crewmember to see the Captain running down the corridors of his ship, but these were difficult times, and any news from other vessels or stations could be extremely valuable in the next few hours. Once Garth had entered his quarters he jumped into his chair and punched up the communications officer's station on his terminal.

"Okay. Let's have it."

"Switching now, sir," and with that, the lovely image of the communications officer faded out and was instantly replaced by the face of Captain Blackwell.

"Greetings, Captain Garth." Blackwell started. "It's been a few months since we've seen each other."

Garth remembered the last time that he was in the company of the _Bonhomme Richard_. They had been performing joint exercises together near Romulan space, searching for a hijacked freighter. It had turned out to be Orion pirates who had commandeered the freighter, killed the crew, and then were attempting to sell off the cargo at a small spaceport on the outskirts of Federation space. Blackwell and Garth had coordinated their efforts together to capture the criminals and deliver them to Starfleet Security.

"It's good to see you again, William." Garth said in response. "What do you have for me, Captain?"

"Four days ago we picked up an extremely damaged flight recorder buoy from the _U.S.S._ _Gulliver_. The _Gulliver_ was supposed to be on a routine scientific mission to the planet Axanar in the Delta Orcas system."

Garth's eyes widened and his moth opened slowly. "Delta Orcas, did you say?"

"Truthfully, you look more shocked than I thought you would at getting this bit of news, considering I know the _Xenophon_ is already on en-route there."

"Yes. We ran into a Klingon cruiser some weeks ago. I speculated that Delta Orcas was either her destination, or her port of departure. We were going to investigate. What has happened?"

Blackwell didn't flinch so much as a muscle. "It appears the _Gulliver_ ran into some trouble near the planet Axanar. We weren't a hundred percent sure of that fact until an hour ago when we finished downloading the logs and piecing the damaged data back together."

"Then the _Gulliver_ has been destroyed?" Garth asked, although he already knew the answer.

"It has, Captain, with all hands. The sensor logs from the _Gulliver_ show a Klingon task force currently in orbit around Axanar."

"Task force? How many ships?" Garth asked, astonished.

"Nine, from what we can make out. We are not sure if that includes the single vessel you disabled or not. We've transmitted the _Gulliver_'s logs to Starfleet Command, as well as set our own course to Axanar."

"When will you arrive?"

Blackwell reached behind his head and scratched as his thick black hair. "That seems to be the clincher, Captain. We were two parsecs further away from Delta Orcas than yourself when we found out what had happened to the _Gulliver_. We've got the _Bonhomme Richards _engines at full power, but we're still going to be eight hours away when you arrive. I've sent a Priority One communication to sector command. There is a Federation scout squadron about the same distance as yourself from Axanar right now."

"Yes." Garth said, remembering the squadron. "It's Captain Boranson's group. They were on training maneuvers near Corida, the last I had heard. There are a lot of green personnel in that squadron."

"Green or not, Captain, it's all we have right now. The rest of our forces in the adjacent sectors are massed near the reported positions of the two large Klingon fleets in the neutral zone."

Garth let the implications of it all fall into place. It didn't take him long to form a reasonable hypothesis as to how this had happened. The Klingon fleets, weather they intended to attack or not, had served a vital purpose: they had effectively divided the Federation's forces in half, spreading them cleanly from one side of the neutral zone to the other. This had the result of leaving an almost open invitation for a small number of Klingon ships to get within striking distance of the core Federation worlds.

Garth looked back to the screen. "You're the senior officer, Captain Blackwell. What are your orders, sir."

"Simple: take command of Boranson's group and get it—and yourself—into the Axanar system. Find out what those devils are up to, but try and avoid a confrontation until help can arrive. You're one hell of a military tactician, Garth, but I'm not convinced that a group of scout ships can handle the heavy cruisers that are in this Klingon task force. Once the _Bonhomme Richard _arrives on scene...well...we can figure that one out when it happens."

"Understood, sir. I'll hold the fleet together until you get there."

Blackwell managed a smile, the last he thought he would show for the foreseeable future. "Good luck, Captain. Blackwell out."

_So_, Garth thought to himself as Blackwell's image faded. _Axanar it is_. Garth could feel a pit forming in his stomach. A pit that told him that no matter what he did in the next few hours, he was going to be in combat again. Thankfully he had already prepped his crew for the action he hoped would never have come.

November, 2251

Stardate 3911.20

Office of the President of the United Federation of Planets, Paris, France.

Starfleet Commander in Chief Murdock, as well as Commodore Robert April and a handful of other high ranking Starfleet personnel, were sitting uncomfortably in the reception area of the Office of the President of the United Federation of Planets. They were all silent, occasionally looking to one another, then away from each other. There wasn't anything more that needed to be said amongst them, considering all of the meetings that had taken place between the various officers over the course of the last several weeks. They had planned; counter planned; and reformed strategies in reaction to the Klingon's bold moves. After compiling all of the mission reports that had been heading in from space near Axanar, coupled with the destruction of the _Gulliver_, the choices they had were extremely limited without support of the Federation council. The President had called an emergency session with the heads of Starfleet and—based on that briefing—would present his proposals to the delegations of representatives from the other member worlds.

A side door opened and in walked two men flanking a small, delicate woman. April looked at her. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five years old, with shoulder length red hair the color of fire. She was striking and had an air about her of commanding presence.

"The President will see you all now. If you will follow me, please?" And then she turned and walked back through the door she had come. The other two men, probably Federation security officers, waited until the Starfleet personnel had followed the young woman before taking up positions at the rear of the group and closing the door behind them.

As they entered the main office, President Alohk Ixan, from the planet Deneva, was seated at his desk. He got up from behind his beautifully ornate antique desk and walked towards them.

"Mister President." Murdock said, outstretching his hand.

The President took it in a soft, but firm handshake. "I wish the circumstances were less dire, Admiral. However, it is good d to see you. And you as well, Commodore April. Thank you all for being here. Please, be seated." He turned and motioned them to the empty couches, arranged in the form of a loose square, off to the center of the room. Once every one had a place the President placed himself in a large wing-back chair in one of the corners of the square.

"Status report, Admiral Murdock." The President began. "We have precious little time."

Murdock knew it as well, and he wasted none of it.

"Captain Garth will be arriving in the Delta Orcas system in less than forty-eight hours, sir. We have two squadrons of scouts and destroyers ready to link up with him when he arrives. The _Bonhomme Richard_ will arrive in less than fifty-six hours at their current speeds. Captain Garth has been given operational command of all untis until that happens."

"I see." The President replied. "And what do we know of the Klingon forces in that area?"

"Long-range sensors indicate a nine ship task force orbiting the planet Axanar. Intelligence believes that this force must have left Klingon space some months ago."

"And their purpose in Federation space?"

Murdock held President Ixan's gaze. "We still don't know."

Ixan looked from officer to officer, resting his eyes on April. "Is this a fight we can win, Commodore?"

April looked to Murdock, then back to the President. "I don't believe so, sir. At least, not with the ships Garth has at his disposal."

"Then ordering them to engage the Klingon's would be a waste of resources and manpower." The president said in disgust. "What am I suppose to tell the council? How can I tell them that we let an entire Klingon task force slip past our fingers?"

Murdock spoke up in his defense. "We were totally unprepared for this, sir."

Ixan stood from his chair and stepped to the large windows at the back of his office. "_Unprepared_." He said under his breath.

After a brief silence, April spoke up. "Sir, Starfleet Intelligence has learned that an Admiral by the name of Korhetza is leading the force in Axanar."

The president kept his gaze out of the window. "And what do we know about him, this…_Korhetza_?"

April was about to speak, but Murdock interrupted. "He's a successful tactician, and quite a diplomat in the Klingon High Council, sir. We can only infer from his partially complete military record that he's won almost every engagement he's ever fought."

"And this is why he has command of this…_invasion_ force?"

Murdock continued. "We believe so, sir. However, his record also shows a high degree of loyalty to his men. He won't take them on a suicide mission. If we can lead him to believe that a major Federation offensive is mounting against him, he might be persuaded to leave Axanar without a fight."

Ixan exhaled through his nose sharply. "A ruse, then?"

"It's all we have at this point, Mr. President." Murdock added.

Ixan paced to the seated men and back to his window a few times, finally resting his hands on the back of the chair he'd vacated moments before.

"I will go to the Federation council and ask that a subspace message be transmitted to Korhetza. We will give him one standard month to vacate the Delta Orcas system."

"Are we going to threaten him with war, sir?" April asked, looking at Murdock to see if the Admiral would cut him off again. He did not.

"We are buying time at this point, gentleman." President Ixan said. "We need to give Garth some breathing room if things get ugly—as I strongly believe they will. Transmit a subspace message to Captain Garth, Admiral Murdock. Advise him to hold position outside of the Delta Orcas system and await further orders."

"He's just supposed to wait there?" April asked, almost in shock. "He'll be a sitting duck."

"Captain Garth is a Starfleet Captain. Order him to monitor the Klingon forces and report on any movements or actions they make." The president then looked to April. "This is not the time for rashness, Commodore. I'm sure you are aware of that?"

April looked to Murdock, who was wearing a look of disapproval on his face that was unmistakable.

"Yes, sir. _Quite_ aware."

"Very well then. Admiral, send the subspace message to Garth right away."

"Yes, sir. He should receive it an hour or so before he enters Delta Orcas."

"—baring any unforeseen difficulty." April added, almost under his breath.

The president looked to April, then to Murdock. "Quite right." He said quietly. "Our prayers are with him and his squadron. This could be the dawn of a very dark time, people. We must be patient and act accordingly. The future of the Federation may well depend on our actions in the next forty-eight hours. Remember this. That will be all, gentleman."

December, 2251

Stardate 3912.05

Admiral Korhetza looked out of his command cruiser's forward most view port and surveyed Axanar. It was an unimpressive blue-green world, only half of the diameter of his beloved home world. He detested Axanar's coolness, its airy breezes, and it's almost year round moderate temperatures. He loathed the idea of going planet side, so he had ordered his most senior Commander to take on that responsibility. He wished for the warmth and high humidity of his home world, but understood full well the orders that had come from the Emperor that brought him to this place.

In truth, he _did_ relish the idea of being so far into Federation space. He had hoped—even if it went against the orders he had been given—to engage a Federation Captain in combat before he had arrived at Axanar. He wanted to test the strength of the vessels he would soon be fighting against in full force—but it was not to be. The diversion, so carefully set up by the Klingon High Council, had worked. The large fleets that were put into position near the neutral zone had done their jobs and had successfully eliminated any threat Korhetza might have encountered when he crossed the neutral zone himself. The journey to Axanar had been uneventful—having been no more taxing on him than any other routine patrol he might have been ordered to undertake in Klingon space.

He had arrived at Axanar, successfully landed three marine battalions, and had secured the entire planet without having to fire a single shot. And it had left a bad taste in his mouth in doing so. '_Weaklings_", he said quietly to the view screen. He was refereeing as much to the inhabitants of Axanar as he was to the Federation forces he dreamed of engaging.

The Emperor—being fully persuaded by the ruling families in the High Council—had ordered the invasion force to the Delta Orcas system. Korhetza's forces were ordered to secure Axanar and begin construction of a military supply base, as well as a planet side ship yard. With the first objective complete, he had then ordered his field Commanders to begin on the latter.

_This was the time for war_, Korhetza thought to himself. Six years ago, he would have thought the turn of events that had transpired in the last twenty four months would have been unthinkable. Then again, such turns often happen when people are afraid of losing their grip on their power. Such had been the case with the Emperor.

For quite some time, the Empire had focused its attentions elsewhere. The Emperor had favored expansion of the empire over an outright confrontation with the Federation. Whereas some families in the high council though that the Empire should be advancing towards the Federation sphere of influence, the Emperor had fought for—and won—the ability to expand the Empire _away_ from the Federation borders. The Emperor had felt this was a more 'economical' move.

Unfortunately, the event had not turned out as well as had been planned. Facing a new threat they had never before encountered, they were reluctantly forced to withdraw those expansion efforts. For several years after the conflict, the families of the high council began to grow in strength. There was talk in the council about the cowardice of the Emperor to expand the frontiers more north, into Federation space. The leaders of the high council had felt that a series of quick, bold strikes could defeat the weaker Federation. Once that was completed, the Empire could turn their attention to the Romulan Star Empire, and then to the unclaimed space between their two empires, known as The Triangle.

There had been some debate among the ruling families about the Empire's ability to wage a prolonged campaign against the Federation. The Emperor—now with a new found sense of _honor_—had assured the families that any war waged against the 'Earthers' would last no longer than two years. He had instituted a massive ship building program, which had the desired effect of calming the dissension in to the upper rank of the high council.

It was General Korhetza himself who had approached the Emperor with the formulated plan to invade Axanar. It was felt that the building of a naval complex and supply port at that location would add confusion to the Federations forces and—with the majority of the Klingon forces engaged at the Federation borders making picking attacks—enough time could be bought for a secondary task force to reach Axanar and support the first. This chain of Klingon forces—now stretching some fifteen parsecs into Federation space—would be used as a corridor to attack the Federation from within.

The Emperor had rallied behind this plan, but it wasn't as though he really had a choice. If he refused, it was highly likely that he would have become the victim of some unfortunate _accident_, the accident itself being orchestrated by those in the high council.

The Emperor was a _fool_, and Korhetza knew it. If Korhetza's invasion plan succeeded, it would give him the leverage he needed to make the final step he required to ascend toward the throne. If the plan failed, the Emperor would be the one to take the blame, and Korhetza will still advance to the throne. It was a win-win situation the General relished. Soon the Federation would be at its knees, then the Romulans would follow suit. The Klingon Empire's frontiers will have been expanded and—gleaming in the triumph of it all—Korhetza would be standing victorious. All Korhetza had to do was wait for the second supporting squadron to arrive at Axanar.

This second group had been dispatched eleven months after Korhetza had departed the Klingon starbase at Ruwan. They were expected at Axanar shortly—and it was just in time. While Korhetza's forces had ample supplies to last them another six months, Korhetza also knew he probably could not avoid detection by Federation forces that long. He was too far from home to survive without support. However, he knew in his heart that he had judged the Federation correctly. They were too weak and to ill-equipped to resist two full attack squadrons of the Empire's finest warriors. The only apparent concern he had at the moment was the failure of his long range scout, a D-4 light cruiser, to check in on time. She hadn't been heard from in three days, but it didn't bother Korhetza excessively. The Commander of that ship was known to take his own excursions from time to time, so the long silence the General now found between himself and that Commander was not surprising.

It mattered little to him, at the moment. Axanar would be Korhetza's base of operations from the coming conflict, and a stepping stone for him to take control of the Klingon Empire. Korhetza had just been informed that the new base hospital and research labs were officially up and running. With this single installation, Korhetza had the means to begin some of the scientific _experiments_ he had been planning for some time. There were several rare plants on Axanar—some of which could possibly be converted for use as biological weapons. There was also a thought—in the back of Korhetza's mind—that he could use the Axanarian people themselves for some useful purpose, other than slave labor, to build his base. In the end, there were simply so many possibilities that Korhetza almost bubbled over with self-satisfaction.

Korhetza would succeed. He had to.

A pair of D-7 heavy cruisers slowly drifted past his observation window. Their bridge command modules, connected to the ships gracefully sweeping secondary hull by a long thin neck, were filled with the best warriors the Empire could muster. The vessels were some of the most advanced ships in the fleet—designed to take on the so-called _Constitution_-class ships the Federation had tried so hard to keep a secret from the Empire. The one thing the Emperor apparently did know how to do was create disinformation. Korhetza had been assured—by the Emperor himself, as well as several of the top intelligence officers—that the Federation was almost twelve months behind in their ability to prepare a force strong enough to resist the Klingon Empire.

In the end he clasped his hands behind his back and surveyed the small Axanarian home world with a new sense of pride. _What was once theirs is now mine!_ he thought to himself. _Soon…there will be more._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

January, 2252

Stardate 4001.012

The _Xenophon_ was on the outer most fringes of the Delta Orcas system. The long range sensors had picked up the most distant planetoid, a Class J gas giant, and Captain Garth had ordered it to be put on the view screen.

It was a turbulent planetoid, a swirling sphere of green and yellow gasses that whipped about the uppermost layers of the densely packed atmosphere. It reminded Garth of the trans-vids he'd seen of the planet Jupiter, in the Sol system—all with the exception of the large spiraling storm that had been present on Jupiter for centuries.

Delta Orcas VI was enormous, even on a galactic scale, but due to the extreme range the _Xenophon_ currently found herself at, the planetoid was nothing but small glowing disk in a field full of the pinpoints of far more distant stars. Garth had chosen this precise spot for a rendezvous with Boransons's destroyer group. A group that should be arriving at these coordinates any moment.

As if to placate Garth's curiosity as to the precise time of arrival of the squadron, the communications officer on the _Xenophon_ chimed in from behind the Captain.

"Sir, message coming in from the squadron Commander."

"At last," Garth said, his voice tinged with excitement. "Put it on visual, Lieutenant."

The view screen instantly switched from the planetoid to the face of a young man. Although his tunic was the golden color of command—and he was seated in the command chair—this was not Boranson.

"Greetings, Captain Garth. This is Commander Vaughn Rittenhouse of the destroyer _U.S.S._ _Persephone_."

"We were expecting Captain Boranson, Commander. Has something happened?" Garth asked. The silver-grey eyes of Rittenhouse glared back at Garth, and Garth felt himself slightly uneasy. He didn't care much for surprises.

"Captain Boranson has come down with a rare virus he picked up on Rigel VII. I've been placed in temporary command of the group until the ship's Doctor clears him for duty."

"I see. I trust you are aware of the current situation, Commander Rittenhouse?"

"Yes, sir. _Very_ aware. I understand this squadron has been placed under your direct command for the duration of this mission. I think you'll find each of these ships comes with an impressive array of the finest officers in the fleet. I've been proud to serve over them, as I'm sure you will be as well, Captain."

Garth shifted in his seat. "I'm sure they will perform adequately, Commander. Standby to receive your full missing briefing via subspace momentarily. Also, please forward this to your group's Commanders. I'd like to get started as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir. I'll take care of it. And, if I may, sir? It's an honor to be serving under you. I've heard quite a bit of chatter on subspace about your fight with the Klingons some time ago, and I'm anxious to see you in action."

"I'm hoping to avoid action, Commander. But, if it should befall us, I hope you won't be too disappointed." Garth said, finishing with a smile.

"Somehow I don't think that will be likely, Captain Garth. Rittenhouse out."

"* * * * *"

Rittenhouse looked over his shoulder to his science officer. She was a striking beauty of a woman. Tall, with thick brown hair that hung lazily about her shoulders. Her skin was a soft white, almost ivory in color. Her deep blue eyes, the color of the Great Pools at Denarius, could sooth a man's soul without her having to even say a word. Her beauty was matched by her sharp wit and keen intellect. Surely, she was the finest woman in the known universe. That's probably why Rittenhouse had married her.

"Did we receive the information from the _Xenophon_, Clarisa?"

She typed at her controls briefly, and then turned to her Captain-husband. "Just now, sir."

"Good," He said, rising from his chair and stepping over to her. He put his hands to his hips in a grandiose display. "I want a meeting with the entire senior staff in twenty minutes," He said aloud, turning his gaze from one bridge station to another. His crew was accustomed to this kind of behavior. The helmsman even offered a brief chuckle.

Everyone seemed to know that_—_beneath his rough exterior_—_Commander Rittenhouse turned into a gallon of goo whenever he got within a meter of his wife. He usually made such loud announcements only to cover up his feelings of boyishness whenever he could smell his wife's perfume_—_and the bridge crew knew it.

As he gazed around the bridge once more, checking to see that each of his officers were doing their duty_—_as well as making sure the coast was clear_—_he was satisfied that he could momentarily breach protocol. He leaned over to his wife, kissing her softly on her lips, and spoke in a hushed whisper.

"See you soon, love." He said, grinning from ear to ear.

She raised her hand to her brow in a mock salute. "I'll be there shortly sir," She replied, adding a mischievous tone to the 'sir'.

Rittenhouse smiled and left the bridge. Once the turbolift doors were securely shut, no less than three stifled laughs came from various bridge stations. Clarisa didn't even show the slightest bit of embarrassment. "As you _were_, people." She mustered in her most serious tone, attempting to hide her own growing smile.

"Yes, mom," came the voice of the chief engineer.

That was all it took for the entire bridge to erupt in a fit of laughter. It was good for the crew to be in such a lighthearted mood_—_especially now. With the Klingon threat more dangerous than ever, Clarisa hoped this would not be the last time she heard that same joyousness from her bridge mates.

"* * * * *"

"That's all we have at this point, people," Rittenhouse was saying, coming to the end of his briefing. "We've been ordered to wait the Klingon's out."

"Sir, are we expecting to have any more reinforcements in the system soon?" The helmsman asked. He was a young human male, perhaps twenty-two years old. His boyish features betrayed his innocence.

"The _Bonhomme Richard _will arrive within the hour. That is it, so far. She's a tough ship with a good Captain at her controls." Rittenhouse replied. After which there was a brief silence before Rittenhouse spoke again. "Any questions?"

He looked around the room. All eyes were on him, without a single question as to their intentions in the Delta Orcas system.

"Alright, then. Return_—_" before Rittenhouse could complete his sentence there was the unwelcomed sound of a red alert being sounded throughout the ship. It was followed by the customary 'Red Alert. Captain to the bridge. Repeat: Red Alert. Captain Rittenhouse to the bridge."

Although Rittenhouse was only a Commander, he position as commanding officer granted him the title of Captain. It was an old seafaring tradition from centuries before, and it was that same sense of tradition that Rittenhouse enjoyed.

All hands in the briefing room leapt up simultaneously and headed for the nearest turbolifts. Some went up to the bridge, others to engineering, and the Doctor reported to sickbay.

"* * * * *"

On the bridge of the _Xenophon_, Garth was sitting at the edge of his command chair when he was summoned by his communications officer. "Sir, I have Commander Rittenhouse on visual."

"Go ahead," Garth replied. Rittenhouse's image flashed on the main screen.

"Rittenhouse here. What's the emergency, Captain Garth?"

"Commander, our long-range sensor have detected two squadrons of D-4E Klingon cruisers. There are also numerous contacts with what appears to be cargo freighters and assault ships of various configurations heading this way."

Rittenhouse was instantly on edge. "From in-system?"

"No. They are heading in from outside of the system. My science officer suggests that this task force is a support group for the units already at Axanar."

"My god." Was all Rittenhouse could get out. He turned away briefly, and Garth surmised that Rittenhouse was verifying the information with his own science department. Rittenhouse turned back to face Garth, more resolute than only moments before. "Orders, sir?"

"Simple and to the point: We cannot let this group enter the Delta Orcas system_—_to say nothing about getting to Axanar itself."

"Agreed. What's your plan?"

"We are outmanned and outgunned on every front, Commander. We must use superior tactics to win this confrontation."

"Again, we are in agreement, Captain Garth."

Garth turned to his communications officer. "Put Commander Daniels on split-screen with myself and Commander Rittenhouse."

A moment later the forward view screen split into two separate channels, one for Rittenhouse and the other for Daniels.

"Gentleman, we will divide our group into three separate commands. Rittenhouse, you will lead the _Persephone_, the _Morgan City_, and the _Borga_. Commander Daniels, you will take the _Proxima_, the _Austerlitz_, and the _Midway_. I will command the _Xenophon_, the _Thelenth_, the _Agincourt_, and the _Makusia_. For fear that our communications may be monitored, I'll have the tactical plan transported to your command ships in the next few minutes. Good luck, gentleman. Garth, out."

There was no time for questions from his field Commanders. No time for second guesses or 'what if' scenarios. The time for all that was passed. Whatever happened in the next few moments would be a huge gamble—but Garth saw no alternative. Not since the Earth-Romulan war had such large scale space faring enemies assaulted one another. It had been so long since then, and so many new advances in ships and weapons had come about since that time. Garth just hoped that the Gods of chance and favor were on his side.

"All hands: Battle stations!" Garth shouted.

"* * * * *"

It was only minutes into the conflict, and already Garth's plan was developing as he'd foreseen. The Federation forces were badly outnumbered, and Garth was playing a desperate hit-and-run defensive with his small squadron.

Garth had formed his group of four destroyers in the tried and true trailing-U formation. He had positioned the _Xenophon_ directly abeam with the _Agincourt_. Starboard of the _Agincourt_—and ahead of her by some five hundred kilometers—was the _Makusia_. Opposite of her, five hundred kilometers to port and forward of the _Xenophon_, was the _Thelenth_.

Garth took his formation and swarmed over their first target, a Klingon D4 cruiser that had strayed from its pack. The Federation starships forced the Klingon cruiser into the opening of their 'U' and proceeded to pounce with all weapons simultaneously. The Klingon ship—unaware and only concentrating her firepower on the _Makusia_—didn't see the combined firepower of the three other vessels until it was too late. In mere seconds the Klingon ship exploded in a violent ball of gas and debris.

One down…and over a dozen more to go.

Garth swung his squadron in a wide arcing turn to starboard and came upon two small bulk freighters. Weather Garth's communications were being monitored or not, he took no chances. All attack patters were being relayed via subspace on a coded basis, being fed directly into each ships computer as soon as Garth had executed them on the _Xenophon_. Each of the Captains had the option of overriding the computer controlled course changes, but as long as the Klingons were losing more ships than the Federation, those Captains saw no need for such action. Garth controlled the maneuvers and the individual Captains controlled their weapons.

It was working too well.

The two freighters were incinerated in moments. Their week shields and light armaments were no match for the destructive firepower of four destroyers. After the devastating striking pass, Garth made another sweeping turn—this time to port—and attempted to engage two cruisers. Instantly Garth knew he had bitten off more than he could chew.

One of the D-4's made a high energy turn, almost spinning around on its own axis, and made a flanking maneuver towards Garth's team. The _Thelenth_ had a glitch in its computer systems, and was unable to match the battle groups maneuvers in time. The D-4 let loose with full disruptors and raked the tiny destroyer across its saucer shaped primary hull. Her shields flared under the impact, and Garth could see on the view screen that somewhere along skin of the _Thelenth_ there was a hull breach. Her external lights flickered, and then went silent.

"* * * * *"

Garth knew he had precious little time to rescue the surviving crew of the _Thelenth_ before she became the target of multiple Klingon warships. He wheeled in his command chair towards his communications officer and shouted "Now!"

"Transmitting!" came the hurried reply.

"Sensors!" Garth shouted, turning back to the viewer.

Toklow peered into the sensor display, watching the movement of every ship—both Klingon and Federation alike. "Two cruisers, moving toward the _Thelenth,_"he informed his captain. "They'll be in weapons range in two minutes."

"Signal the rest of the squadron to move in. I'm not sure if this is going to work and we need to be ready—"

Toklow snapped in "Sir, the Klingons are changing course!"

"Heading?"

"Moving away at three-quarters impulse. Looks like they are reforming…"

"It's working!" Garth exclaimed. He had gambled, and the Federation ships were holding their own. He had given strict orders to Daniels group. They were to get as far out of sensor range as possible—while still being battle ready if the situation arose. Garth—knowing that several of Starfleet's communication protocols had already been breached by Klingon Intelligence—ordered Daniel to perform a massive subspace counterintelligence mission. Daniels small group of destroyers was simulating the broadcast traffic of a dozen federation cruisers.

The affect was instantaneous. The Klingons—thinking that they were outnumbered and outmatched—broke off their attack on the small destroyer squadron and were reforming to combat the much larger threat they now perceived was going to enter the system at any moment.

The _Xenophon_ sped toward the _Thelenth_, beaming all survivors onboard, and then took the remainder of his destroyer formation in a long arching three-hundred and sixty degree turn. Garth could see four of the remaining D-4's lining abreast of one another, moving in the direction of the simulated Federation fleet—and away from his group.

"Attack speed!" he belted to his helmsman.

The _Xenophon_, the _Agincourt_, and the _Makusia_ streamed toward the heavy cruisers with all the power the impulse engines would give them. As the starships moved within a thousand kilometers, two of the D-4's attempted to pull away from their strike formation to turn and face Garth. It was to no avail.

Seemingly from nowhere, Rittenhouse's squadron pounced down the z-axis and preformed a flawless flanking maneuver in a stunning v-formation. They blasted holes in all four Klingon cruisers before peeling around the lumbering ships and off into deep space again.

And Garth hadn't reduced his own speed, either. His own squadron flew over the now thoroughly confused Klingons at three-hundred meters, shooting their own lasers into the now smoking Klingons. Three off the four cruisers exploded—the fourth so badly damaged that all power was lost and she spiraled out of control.

As if on cue, Daniels squadron now moved in from outside the system. Within moments The _Midway_ had leapt from the formation and fired a volley of photon torpedoes at an incoming Klingon cruiser.

Garth jumped from his command chair when he saw the lone Federation destroyer take on the heavily armed cruiser all on its own. "What the _hell_ is he doing?" Garth yelled at the view screen. He watched as the _Midway_s torpedoes hit home, watched as the little Federation destroyer flew under the Klingon and started turning, then saw as the Klingons rear disruptor became active. The greet beam of energy streaked from the aft end of the cruiser, striking the _Midway_ dead center.

"* * * * *"

As the _Midway_ continued her slow turn she passed right into the direction of another Klingon cruiser and a heavy destroyer. The onslaught of weapons against the _Midway_ was more than she could bear. First the salvo of three torpedoes from the Klingon destroyer took out the _Midway_s shields, and then the cruiser moved in. The ensuing disruptor blasts blew elephant-sized holes in her bridge and saucer section, then dissected her warp nacelle with equal efficiency. The _Midway_ careened to starboard as the Klingons continued to make Swiss-cheese out of her hull. A moment later, the _Midway_ was gone from existence.

Garth clutched his fist, his knuckles digging into his sides. '_What was that fool thinking? This is no time for heroics!' _

As Garth watched the _Midway_ disintegrate, Daniels had brought the _Proxima_ and the _Austerlitz_ into weapons range of the offending heavy destroyer. The Klingon didn't even see it coming as both Federation ships opened up with full lasers and torpedoes simultaneously, turning the Klingon destroyer into a burning hulk. Once the destroyer was finished, Garth and Daniels coordinated on taking out the cruiser that had destroyed the _Midway_.

The _Proxima_ took two torpedoes to her aft shields, the _Xenophon_ taking one herself in her forward shields, from two Klingon's that had snuck up from behind them. But, Rittenhouse was right where he needed to be when Garth required him. The _Persephone_'s lasers lit up the shields of the first of the D-4's, while the heavy destroyers _Morgan City_ and the _Borga_ attacked the other.

The initial D-4 that Garth had his eyes on had opened fired on the _Agincourt_. The Klingon's powerful disruptors took out the tiny destroyers screens in an instant. Garth swung the _Xenophon_ around to defend his wing mate, opening up with his own lasers in an instant. The D-4 managed to fire two torpedoes before it exploded, one intended for Garth and the other for the _Agincourt_.

Garth got lucky—the Klingon torpedo streaking over his port beam. The _Agincourt_, however, wasn't as fortunate. The weapon struck her warp pylon and neatly severed the engine from the hull. With her primary power generator now gone, the _Agincourt_'s systems went into automatic battery back-up. Her hull lights went dim, but not out. Her momentum was her own enemy now. She drifted at one-quarter impulse into the path of three Klingon freighters that were attempting to flee the system under thruster power. The _Agincourt_ was just too quick for her own good. The starboard side of her primary hull smashed into one of the freighters, causing the crippled Federation destroyer to cartwheel sideways into another freighter, destroying all three ships in the process.

There was no time to grieve. Rittenhouse had his hands full with another Klingon warship. As Garth brought the _Xenophon_ around another ship came into sensor contact.

"Sir!" Toklow yelled. "Ship coming in at maximum warp. It's the _Bonhomme Richard_!"

The Federation heavy cruiser warped right into the middle of the fray. She moved in at extreme angle and found herself instantly being flanked by two Klingon assault ships loaded with marines. The _Bonhomme Richard _let her lasers reach out from both port and starboard banks—making little work of the two less heavily armed Klingon vessels.

"Sir, communication coming in from the _Bonhomme Richard_."

"On screen," Garth said, settling back into his command chair after what—to him—felt like days.

After a moment of white and blue static, Captain Blackwell's face appeared on the _Xenophon_'s view screen. He sat confidently in his chair and his words flowed out as comfortably as if he had just come in from a stroll along a beach. "Greetings, Captain Garth. I hope I'm not too late."

Garth could feel a single bead of sweat drip down from his forehead. He absently wiped his brow with the back of his hand as he spoke. "On the contrary, _Captain_, you're right on time."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The _Bonhomme Richard_ had arrived—and was not a moment too soon. Aboard the _Persephone_, Commander Vaughan Rittenhouse had his hands full, and he could use all the help he could get.

His ship, along with the destroyer-escort _Morgan City_, was engaged with two Klingon cruisers—and had gotten more than they had bargained for. The small destroyers were outgunned three-to-one, but the little Federation ships had an ace up their sleeves. They could outmaneuver their larger opponents, and that made things about equal in Rittenhouse's eyes—or so he had thought.

One of the lumbering green Klingon ships had caught the _Morgan City_ off guard and had sent two torpedoes into her aft section, causing her shields to buckle in that area. Rittenhouse, engaged with the another cruiser, could do very little to assist his comrade. That was until Blackwell had shown up with his mighty cruiser, the _Bonhomme Richard_.

The _Richard_ was an older design, but every bit the predecessor to the new _Constitution-_class heavy cruiser. She had the same saucer shaped primary hull, the same cigar shaped secondary hull below it, and a pair of warp nacelles jutting out at even angels from there. One could even mistake her for a _Constitution_—at a far enough glance. She was merely smaller, with older designed offense and defensive hard points, and far less scientific capabilities.

After Blackwell had dealt with the small assault carriers, he moved the _Bonhomme Richard_ into position to aid Rittenhouse. The cruiser rose up a thousand meters on its z-axis, and pivoted to port on her thrusters until she was facing the D-4 that was accosting the _Morgan City_. Blackwell watched as a disruptor blast from the Klingon ship lanced out and struck the shielded warp nacelle of the _Morgan City_, causing her shields to glow a bright white before settling back into invisibility.

The _Bonhomme Richard_ brought her own weapons to bear, firing a salvo of torpedoes at the Klingon. One missed, the other struck the center of the long neck that joined the Klingon ships bridge section to the secondary hull. The Klingons shields flared, but didn't go out entirely. Blackwell fired his lasers, but the Klingon was too quick. It glided upwards as Blackwell's blasts fell off below it.

Garth, seeing his opportunity, led the _Xenophon_ in and firing two more torpedoes that finished off the Klingon's shields. Rittenhouse maneuvered the _Persephone_, and with a clean burst of laser fire, neatly severed the Klingon's neck in two. The enemy's bridge slid slowly away from its body as the remainder of the ship limped on its own course toward oblivion.

Only two D-4's remained, as well as two destroyers, and a freighter that was quickly speeding its way into the system.

Blackwell had the remaining Klingon cruiser on his sensors. She was aft of the _Bonhomme Richard_ and moving into an attack posture. Blackwell knew he couldn't maneuver the _Richard_ away in time, and tried desperately to get the Klingon off of his vulnerable stern. He set the ship on a violent zigzag pattern that left more than one member of his bridge crew feeling slightly sea sick.

"* * * * *"

Garth, perusing the escaping Klingon freighter, signaled to Rittenhouse.

"Vaughan, that freighter must _not_ be allowed to contact Axanar for reinforcements! Help Blackwell while I take the _Borga_ to assist me."

On the _Xenophon_'s main viewer, Garth could see that Rittenhouse's face was covered with grime. Garth saw a bundle of cables dangling behind him from some overhead console that had shattered.

"I'll do what I can, Captain—" Rittenhouse replied. "—but my ship is a mess. Shields are down to thirty percent and the torpedo launcher is offline. The _Proxima_ is in about the same shape as we are."

"Do what you can, Commander. I won't be long," Garth finished, signing off on the viewer.

Rittenhouse watched his own viewer as the _Xenophon_ and the _Borga_ pealed out of the fray and took off towards the escaping freighter.

"* * * * *"

Vaughan Rittenhouse surveyed his bridge. His helmsman was in sickbay—having sustained injuries when his console overloaded. The bridge was a mess of loose wires, dangling conduits, bulkhead fragments, and broken console buttons. He looked to Clarisa, who had dutifully been manning the communications station. How had she managed to still look as radiant as ever in the midst of all this chaos?

"Clarisa, signal the rest of the fleet. I'm taking command in Garth's absence. Advise all ships to fire on the destroyers at will."

"Yes, sir. Sending your message now."

Moments later Rittenhouse watched as the _Proxima_ and the _Austerlitz_ zoomed into his view, firing lasers and photons at one of the two remaining Klingon destroyers.

"Locate the other destroyer, Mr. White." Rittenhouse said to his science officer.

Rittenhouse settled into his command chair. A moment later, White spoke up from his console. "Sir, I don't know how…but she got behind us!"

"_What?_" Rittenhouse screamed in the direction of White.

"She's two thousand meters away and closing! She's firing, sir!"

"Brace for impact!" Rittenhouse shouted. A moment later the view screen went bright white as the entire ship shuddered violently from the impact of multiple weapons. The _Persephone_ lurched sharply to port—then to starboard. There was an explosion on the bridge somewhere behind Rittenhouse. It blew him out of his chair and straight into the back of the navigator's seat. Both men fell to the floor in a heaped pile.

Rittenhouse pulled himself to his knees. His head was ringing like a church bell. Although his equilibrium was still in shock, he somehow had managed to assist his navigator to the same position, and then helped him back into his chair. Vaughan leaned over the helm console, steadying himself.

"Clarisa, damage report."

The bridge was eerily silent. No response.

Rittenhouse spoke as he turned. "Clarisa, damage—"

_The explosion_. It had come from the communications console. Clarisa's broken body was strewn at an unnatural angle over the bridge guard rail. Half of her tunic was burnt black with soot, the other half seemed to be coated in blood.

"_Clarisa!_" Vaughan shouted. He slapped the ship wide intercom button on his command chair, hoping anyone on the ship with medicinal experience would hear his plea and come at once. "Medical team to the bridge! Emergency!"

"* * * * *"

The _Xenophon_ and the _Borga_ slipped easily behind the escaping Klingon freighter. She was a slow beast of a machine—and she looked it. Whereas the D-7 heavy cruiser was a graceful design—or as graceful as the Klingons could make a ship—the G-8 Cargo freighter was exactly the opposite. Where its warrior sister had a sleek secondary body, the G-8 had a fat stomach extending down and aft that accounted for two-thirds of her length. Her two warp nacelles, protruding slightly forward of her bulbous cargo hold, were barley powerful enough to maintain a maximum speed of warp three. She looked like a fat cockroach—and Garth wanted to step on it and squash it.

The Captain quickly implemented his plan. He had the _Borga_ swing wide and come around to the front of the freighter, while Garth took the _Xenophon_ to a stern position. On cue, both Federation ships opened fire with lasers at half strength. Even with the power cycled down, it only took two shots each to completely disable the enemy's defensive systems. Garth wanted this one alive.

"Transporter room, this is the Captain. Energize!" He said into his armrest speaker. He was taking a big gamble. Garth had assembled a team of his best security guards, led by his chief of security, and had formed a makeshift boarding party. He knew this wasn't exactly in the text books, and wondered if it had even been attempted in the past at all. If the Klingon Captain got twitchy and decided to self destruct his ship, there was nothing Garth would be able to do to get his people back in time.

Minutes ticked by as Garth silently waited for a communication from Leland Grant. Grant had a keen sense for security. He handled people well, handled conflict even better, and weapons better than both of those two combined. Captain Garth had learned to trust the man implicitly. The Captain knew that Leland would go far with his career—if he returned from this little outing at all.

Within in ten minutes of beaming aboard, Garth received the signal he'd been waiting for.

"This is Garth."

"Captain, this is Grant. The bridge is secure. All hostile forces have been incapacitated. Internal sensors show no further resistance. We have transferred our flag."

"Excellent, Lieutenant," Garth congratulated the younger officer. "Casualty report? Is the Klingon captain still alive?"

"No casualties on our team, sir. The Klingon Captain is alive. He was fuming mad at the idea of Starfleet personnel being on his ship. We had to… give him a little nap."

"Understood, Mr. Grant. Can you pilot the ship?"

"Yes, sir. The controls seem pretty straight forward. I've got a whiz-kid here with me that thinks he's a helmsman. I'll give him a shot at the con. Your orders, sir?"

"Take the ship out of the battle zone and get it to the nearest starbase. I don't want it damaged in any way. We need to find out more about the Klingons, and I'm sure the cargo holds of that ship will give us quite a few answers."

"Not to mention the computer systems." Grant replied over his communicator.

"You read my mind, Lieutenant. Your orders are understood then?" Garth asked.

"Yes, sir. Getting underway now."

"Excellent, I'll send the _Makusia_ over to give you cover during your journey." Garth replied, signing off and setting a course back to the battlefield.

"* * * * *"

"I've stabilized her for now, but I don't know if there is much we can do."

Rittenhouse looked into the blood smeared face of his wife. He tenderly moved a stray lock of hair away from her closed eye, and then ran the finger down her check. He was lost in thought. So many memories were flooding his brain, so many kisses and hugs, and love letters, and unspoken compliments, and—

"Captain…" The Doctor whispered softly, but there was enough urgency in his voice to break the Captain out of his trance. "You deal with the Klingons. We'll take the Lieutenant down to sick bay. I'll notify you of any change in her condition."

Vaughan came around and stood on his feet. "That… won't be necessary, Doctor. I'll be down as soon as I can. These Klingons are my top priority now."

The Doctor—as well as the rest of the remaining bridge crew—knew the Captain was pushing down more emotion than he could bear. If the situation with the Klingons didn't pan out soon in their favor, the Captain could easily snap under the pressure.

"Captain, really… it's no—"

Vaughan cut him off sharply, more sharply than anyone on the bridge had ever heard before from their skipper. "You have your orders, _Doctor_. Take your patient off the bridge. We're in the middle of a conflict here!"

The Doctor scowled at the Captain and then acquiesced to his request. Within moments, he and Clarisa were gone.

The Captain moved into his chair once again, doing his best to hide the fear he had for the loss of his wife. He decided, at that moment, to channel that fear into rage. Rage at the Klingons.

"Lieutenant White, where is that Klingon _bastard_?"

"He passed over our starboard side and is heading off at full impulse."

"Pursuit course." Rittenhouse said calmly.

"Sir," said the chief engineer, "Impulse power is sketchy at best. I can give you quarter—maybe half impulse—but not full."

Rittenhouse almost exploded at his chief, but managed to bite the inside of his check hard enough to keep his mouth from opening. He looked to his helmsman and said "Plot an intercept course and proceed at maximum speed, helmsman. I don't care what speed that is, _just do it!_"

"Aye, sir."

"* * * * *"

The _Bonhomme Richard_ was faring about as well as the _Persephone_. The Klingon cruiser that Blackwell initially had his sights on was taking pot shots at the _Richards_ unprotected stern, slowly knocking her rear shields down about fifteen percent with each hit. At this rate, her aft quadrant would be vulnerable in about thirty seconds.

'_That guy's a good shot,_' Blackwell thought to himself. '_Where is my damn backup?'_

As if an answered prayer from the Gods, Frank Daniels brought the _Proxima_ into the fray like a divine wind. The small destroyer swooped between the two ships, deflecting a blast meant for the _Bonhomme Richard,_ and proceeded to deal her own retribution. A burst of laser fire streamed from her upper and lower banks at the same moment. Both struck home, one to the Klingons bridge structure and the other to her port warp pylon.

Daniels had parked his destroyer directly in the Klingons path in game of interstellar chicken. The Klingon shifted in its course, and broke off her pursuit of the _Richards_, narrowly avoiding a collision with the _Proxima_ in the process.

The _Morgan City_ and the _Austerlitz_ were the next to strike. As the D-4 peeled away from its collision course with Daniels, it had managed to stray right into the path of two more Federation destroyers. The _Morgan City_ fired torpedoes, the _Austerlitz_ with lasers.

The Klingon fired its own weapons, all aimed at the _Morgan City_. The Federation destroyer lurched under the impact of full disruptors. The Captain of the _Austerlitz_, Commander Juan Menendez, watched his view screen as the _Morgan City_'s impulse engines flared a bright red.

His science officer confirmed his suspicions. "They are running hot, Captain. Fusion reactor breach imminent, sir!"

Menendez thick Spanish accent rang out through the bridge. "Get us out here! _Now!_"

The _Austerlitz_ banked sharply away from the _Morgan City_—and not a moment too soon. The destroyer's fusion reactors began to bulge, one by one, as they attempted in vain to restrain the catastrophic reactions going on inside them. The superstructure aft of the bridge began to buckle. Then—one by one—the reactors exploded, popping open the _Morgan City_'s saucer hull like a cookie broken into a half-dozen pieces. All hands lost.

It had been a dual, and both the Federation and the Klingons had lost. The enemy destroyer had its bridge smashed by the onslaught of the two Federation ships. Menendez saw it gliding away, probably being controlled from its auxiliary bridge.

"Bring all weapons to bear on _that_ target," He said.

"* * * * *"

The _Bonhomme Richard_ had recovered quickly, Blackwell himself managing to dispatch one of the Klingon destroyers on his own. True—the previous combined efforts against the destroyer by Rittenhouse and Garth had helped—but Blackwell was glad to have dealt the death blow.

Blackwell swung his cruiser around in time to see Menendez bring the _Austerlitz_'s around to the D-4's stern. The D-4 activated its rear disruptor, but the shot went wild and missed Menendez completely. The _Austerlitz_ then opened fire with lasers, sending the already stricken Klingon cruiser reeling stern first into an oblique angle.

Blackwell took that as his signal and—ordering full impulse—he quickly overtook the limping Klingon cruiser and rained laser fire on it as the _Bonhomme Richard_ swung over the Klingons smoldering hull at barely one-hundred meters. The Klingon, however, had managed to get a lucky strike on the _Bonhomme Richard_. The rear tip of Blackwell's port warp nacelle lit up like a bottle rocket, causing a stream of plasma to be ejected rearward from the damaged area. It looked as if the _Bonhomme Richard_ had an old style Earth rocket strapped to its pylon instead of a warp drive unit. Within minutes, Blackwell had managed to extinguish the blaze.

Garth, meanwhile, had formed into a trailing-V formation with the _Xenophon_ in the center and flanked on either side by the _Borga_ and the _Proxima_. They honed in on the single remaining destroyer, taking multiple high speed passed and dealing nearly point blank laser and torpedo strikes each time. Within moments, the remaining Klingon ship winked out of existence.

With all the Klingons now destroyed, Garth ordered the remaining Federation starships to regroup at their initial staging point before the battle had begun. It was time to lick their wounds.

"* * * * *"

The results were promising—but the toll had been staggering. Eight Klingon cruisers had been destroyed or disabled. Add to this number two assault craft, three destroyers, and four freighters destroyed, with one additional freighter being captured.

On the Federation side, the _Larson_-class destroyers _Midway_ and _Agincourt_ were lost, as well as the _Loknar_-class frigate _Morgan City_. Four-hundred and sixty-six people between the three vessels were dead. The destroyers _Thelenth_ and _Persephone_ were badly damaged, with an untold number of casualties on each. The cruiser _Bonhomme Richard_ was warp incapable. The _Xenophon_, likewise, had to make do with only impulse drive.

The Captains of the various Federation ships had agreed to meet on the _Bonhomme Richard_ to review the after action report. With the briefing now over, the Captains exited the room one by one until only Garth and Rittenhouse remained.

Garth, seated at the head of the long table, folded his hands together and leaned his chin into them. He knew something was on Rittenhouse's mind. After a moment of deliberation, Garth spoke.

"They try to train us for everything," he began. "But there are just some things you can't learn from a textbook or a simulation."

Rittenhouse nodded slowly, then broke the gaze he had on Garth and looked to the smooth table top.

"I've lost people under my command before, Captain Garth. I know the routine."

Garth dropped his hands to the tabletop. "There is nothing routine about losing people under us, Commander. It's an—"

"An occupational hazard." Rittenhouse said, softly cutting off Garth. Garth could see that Vaughan's stare looked completely blank, as if he was lost in another world—or another time.

After a long silence between the two men, Garth stood and rounded the table, then rested a hand on Rittenhouse's shoulder. "Take some time, Commander. We'll get through this."

Rittenhouse looked up from the table and meet Garths eyes. Vaughan had to force himself to smile. He felt it was the only way to get Garth to leave him alone. In truth, it seemed the only way to get everyone to leave him alone. When Rittenhouse was finally the solitary person in the briefing room he stood and walked to the port viewport.

He saw the _Persephone_, her hull pitted and scorched from the recent combat. He looked to the bridge of his ship, the rear portion of which was discolored to an almost light devouring blackness by the torpedo impact that had killed his wife.

'They'll _pay_ for what they did.' He thought to himself, the message so loud in his head that if someone were standing too close they might actually hear it. His anger, simmering during the after action meeting, was now at full boil and in danger of bubbling over. _'I swear it!'_

"* * * * *"

February, 2252

Stardate 4002.01

Incoming subspace communication…PRIORITY ONE….

FROM: Admiral John Murdock, Commanding Officer, Starfleet Command, San Francisco, Earth

TO: All Commanding Officers, Galaxy Exploration Command, Alpha Quadrant

SUBJ: STATUS OF RELATIONS WITH THE KLINGON EMPIRE

References:

(A) Federation Council Ultimatum to Klingon Forces on planet Axanar, November 2251

(B) Federation response to further invading Klingon forces on/near the Delta Orcas system, Stardate 4001.012

(C) Official Response from Klingon Forces occupying planet Axanar, signed Klingon General Korhetza, Stardate 4001.29

.

1. Per reference (A), Klingon forces were required to vacate Federation space upon receipt of this communication. No alternatives suggested by Federation Council.

2. Per reference (B), it is clear to the Federation Council that the occupation of the Planet Axanar was not an isolated event, and that it denotes a serious act of defiance against the Federation by Klingon forces.

3. Per reference (C), It is further stipulated that one General Korhetza, who commands the Klingon forces in the Delta Orcas system, has no clear conception that the conflict on stardate 4001.12

between Starfleet and Klingon vessels has taken place. Reference (C) is quoted as follows:

"…An alliance now exists between the powerful Klingon Empire and its honorable servitor, the natives of the world known as Axanar. By the insulting condition in the terms of your own weakness-infested Council's 'ultimatum', a state of war is now in effect between the Klingon Empire and the United Federation of Planets."

4. Until such time as this happens, a state of war does indeed now exist between the United Federation of Planets and the Klingon Empire. All Klingon ships should be considered extremely dangerous and engaged on site.

5. All commanding officers are required to submit daily updates and reports to their respective fleet coordinators as time and subspace will allow.

6. Further information to follow shortly.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

February 2252

Stardate 4002.08

The _Xenophon_ had been holding station just outside of the Delta Orcas system. It had been nearly a month since Garth's initial conflict with the Klingon reinforcement squadron that had been sent to Axanar—and a full week since he had received the Klingons formal declaration of war against the Federation. Starfleet Command had wasted no time in sending out their own response to the Klingons.

They would fight.

Commander Rittenhouse had been ordered to Starbase Fourteen. His ship, the _Persephone_, had been repaired enough to handle the nearly ten-parsec journey. Aboard the _Bonhomme Richard_, Captain Blackwell had taken the destroyer _Thelenth_ under tow and was proceeding with Rittenhouse with all due haste. Once their ships were repaired and their respective Captains debriefed, Garth had high hopes that they would return to the front lines to render assistance to the rest of the fleet.

Meanwhile, Garth's forces near Axanar had been reinforced with several starships and destroyers. The _Constitution_-class cruiser _U.S.S._ _Potemkin_ had joined the flotilla, as well as the Anton-class cruisers _Invicta_, _Guardian_, and _Renown_. An additional squadron of destroyers was also rushed into the Delta Orcas systems. With the addition of these three ships—the _Larson_-class _Pharsalus _and _Anzio_, and the _Detroyat_-class heavy destroyer _San Miguel_— augmenting the _Borga_, the _Proxima_, and the _Austerlitz_, Garth had a fully formed battle fleet that was ready for action.

Captain Garth, now holding the official title of Fleet Captain, had overall command authority over the entire group. He was seated on the bridge of the _Xenophon_ now, waiting for the final status reports to come in from the fleet before issuing the command to proceed to Axanar. Garth was hopeful that, with this enormous show of force at his side, he would be able to easily outmaneuver the Klingons and achieve a quick victory. If the reinforcement squadron he had encountered a month ago was any indication of the training and resourcefulness of all of the Klingons forces, this should prove to be a quick battle. But, he had learned long ago to never underestimate his opponents.

"Sir, incoming communication from the _Potemkin_," Ensign Costas announced from his communication station.

"On screen, Ensign." The star field being displayed on the view screen was replaced by the rounded face of the _Potemkin_'s Captain, Mitchell Hayes. His hair was dark brown and slicked back over his scalp. His face was adorned by a thick handlebar mustache that extended from below his nose to the centers of his cheeks, where the tips then curled up into tight circles. It wasn't exactly regulation, but with visual contact between Starfleet and its commanding officer sparse at times, it wasn't unusual for the Captain and his crew to indulge in some playful bending of the official uniform regulations from time to time. A Captain often felt it broke up the monotony of long journeys in space, and allowed the crew to relax and unwind from the constant routine of duty. Hayes's deep blue eyes gleamed from under burly eyebrows.

"Fleet Captain Garth, we are ready to get underway," Mitchell said formally. "All preparations have been made. The ship is standing by for your orders, sir."

"Superb, Captain Hayes, " Garth said and then motioned to Costas. "Open a channel to the fleet."

"Ready, sir'"

"All ships: standby to receive official battle orders and communication protocols."

Garth glanced over his shoulder to Costas and gave the communication officer a sharp nod of his head. Costas replied by initiating the information transfer to all ships in the fleet. A moment later Costas's voice sounded. "All ships have responded, sir. Battle plans received and acknowledged."

"Very good. Plot a course for Axanar and engage at maximum impulse."

"* * * * *"

Admiral Korhetza had been pacing the bridge of his command ship for what had seemed like hours. The bridge was uncharacteristically silent—save for the occasion beeps and blips coming from the various terminals surrounding the command deck. It was so unnervingly silent that Korhetza could hear the bottom of his heavy cloak sweeping along the deck as he turned back and forth. _'Where are my reinforcements?'_ he thought to himself. '_They should have been here by now. Are they not aware that our supplies grow thin?'_

The Admiral stopped to look out the large viewport. Below him spun the planet Axanar. True, he _had_ succeeded in setting up a makeshift base on the planet's surface. The planet also contained all of the raw material he required to construct a large surface installation, but Korhetza required the heavy mining and construction equipment that was being ferried in by his support squadron. Without them it could be months until the full potential of the base could be realized —if ever. Even the simple task of farming enough food for his forces was proving problematic. It had been easy enough to persuade the Axanarians to assist the Klingons, but they proved to be slow and inefficient when it came to providing for the basic needs of an entire Klingon battle group.

In a lower orbit, Korhetza could see the forms of several heavy cruisers plodding along on in their respective courses around the planet. Korhetza wondered to himself what was going on in the minds of those Captains. Were they as frustrated as himself over the current situation? The raw food stores on all of the ships were running at dangerously low levels. If they were not resupplied quickly, Korhetza projected the replicators would run dry in less than two weeks.

"Sir!" A voice boomed from behind the Admiral. "Long range sensors detect several ships, closing fast."

Korhetza stepped over to the scanning station and stood behind his officer. "Our supply convoy?"

"It appears so, but it is difficult to tell with certainty at such long range. However, it is definitely a large group of ships—and they are proceeding precisely on the classified vector we had assigned to the convoy."

The Admiral had set up the predefined vector several months prior to their departure from Klingon space. It was the surest way to determine which ships entering the system were friendly or not before they could get close enough for a sensor scan.

"Then it must be them," Korhetza said, turning and walking back to the forward viewport. "At last," He said, exhaling a deep sigh of relief. "Inform the fleet that our comrades are approaching."

"Yes, Admiral. Transmitting now."

"* * * * *"

Garth had coordinated his battle plan to induce the maximum amount of damage to the Klingons which—he hoped—would also afford for as few casualties to the Federation forces as possible. He had broken his fleet into three groups that formed a crescent shape that would attack from three sides.

The first squadron—consisting of the destroyers _San Miguel_, _Anzio_, and _Pharsalus_—would attack from the top of the crescent. The second squadron—consisting of the cruisers _Invicta_, _Renown_, _Guardian_, and led by the heavy cruiser _Potemkin_—would engage from the center. The third group—which comprised the destroyers _Proxima_, _Borga_, and _Austerlitz_—would form the lower part of the crescent. Garth, onboard the _Xenophon_—and using maximum sensor coverage throughout the area—would coordinate the attack at a distance and would sail in to assist any ship that required it.

Garth had the tactical display up on the _Xenophon_'s view screen. Axanar looked like a great red ball on the upper right portion of the screen and—on the lower left—Garth saw his forces moving in. Orbiting Axanar was a pair of D-7 heavy cruisers, followed by a single D-9 light cruiser. In what seemed like a patrol formation—and at the closest position to the Federation forces—Garth noted three D-9's in a trailing V-formation, with two D-7 heavy cruisers on its flanks. On the opposite side of Axanar, at extreme sensor range, Garth could see a squadron of four D-4 light cruisers making their way around the planet. The squadron of four would be in attack position in less than twelve minutes. _'That makes twelve Klingon ships to my ten,'_ Garth thought to himself. _'Good odds for any warrior worth his salt.'_

As soon as his formations were close enough to Axanar for the Klingon sensors to accurately scan and identify the Federation ships the battle had commenced. The two D-7's nearest Axanar broke out of orbit and set an intercept course for the _Anzio_'s group of destroyers. Meanwhile, the mixed group of D-4's and D-7's shifted in their patrol course and headed for the _Potemkin_'s group at full speed. The squadron of destroyers at the bottom of the crescent—lead by the _Proxima_—was going unnoticed for the moment and Garth felt it was an omen from God.

From that point on, it was interstellar chaos at its finest.

The mixed Klingon patrol squadrons two D-7's—as well as one of the D-9's—broke formation and sped toward the _Proxima_'s group, leaving two D-9's to the _Potemkin_'s squadron. Garth coordinated the quickly unfolding situation as best he could. He ordered the _Potemkin_ to take the _Invicta_ and reinforce the _Proxima_'s group. This left the _Renown_ and the _Guardian_ to face one light cruiser each.

Meanwhile, the upper part of the crescent formation was attacking as well. The _San Miguel_ and the _Anzio_ double-teamed one D-7, while the destroyer _Pharsalus_ engaged in single combat with the other heavy cruiser that—moments before—had been orbiting Axanar. The slower D-9 light cruiser was quickly closing in to further widen the odds of the little destroyer winning the match. The _San Miguel_ and the _Anzio_, both dealing equal laser strikes, completely destroyed the larger D-7 cruiser in a matter of minutes.

Elsewhere, the _Proxima_—now backed up with the _Invicta_ on her starboard side—managed to completely annihilate another of the D-7's. When the _Potemkin_ swung in to help mop up, it was now three Federation ships against a single Klingon D-7 cruiser and a D-4 destroyer.

The _Austerlitz_ and the _Borga_—seeing that the _Potemkin_ had the situation under control—were ordered to began a large leeward swing to starboard, coming around the entire conflict zone, and form into an attack run on the squadron of D-4's that would be emerging from the dark side of Axanar in the next few minutes.

The _Anzio_ and the _San Miguel_, after destroying their target, regrouped to help out the outmatched _Pharsalus_. Unfortunately, they were moments too late. With the combined firepower of a heavy cruiser and a destroyer the small Federation destroyer was greatly outgunned, and the Klingon's wasted no time in pressing their advantage. They began hitting the _Pharsalus_ with wave after wave of disruptor blasts.

From his vantage point on the _Xenophon_, Garth tried in vain to coordinate a strategy that would save the destroyer, but he knew in his gut that the _Pharsalus_ was doomed. As if by providence, the _Pharsalus_ exploded in an incredible ball of light as her antimatter containment vessel was breached. Garth noted with exasperation as the small blinking light on his view screen—the one that had represented the destroyer—winked out of existence.

The _Renown_ and the _Guardian_ had been enormously successful, both managing to incapacitate their respective destroyer targets. The _Renown_ now headed to reinforce the _Anzio_ in what remained of the upper portion of the crescent formation. The _Guardian_ headed to help the _Potemkin_ in the lower portion. When the _Guardian_ was within five-hundred kilometers of the _Potemkin,_ her Captain noted the larger Federation cruiser had dealt a crippling blow to an equally matched D-7 cruiser. Then, receiving a signal from Captain Hayes that the _Potemkin_ and the _Proxima_ required no assistance in dealing with the remaining D-9 destroyer, the _Guardian_ swung to port to intercept the _Renown_.

The _Borga_ and the _Austerlitz_, in the meantime, had worked their way up half of the combat zone and were preparing to outflank the D-4 squadron that was just coming into view.

The _Potemkin_ had the Klingon D-9 in her sights. She opened up with two photon torpedoes, quickly disabling the forward shields on the small Klingon destroyer. The _Proxima_ was close behind, firing lasers at almost point blank range into the bridge section of the enemy vessel. Half of the ship exploded in seconds, leaving the other half a smoking hulk that was drifting away from the combat zone.

By that time the _Renown_ had linked up with the _Anzio_'s group. The _Renown_'s lasers sprang to life and flared against the shields of a D-9—but the range was too far—and the shields of the Klingon vessel held fast. The enemy destroyer swung around and fired full disruptors at the _Renown_, causing her own shields to flare and burst on the starboard side. The _Renown_—not known for cowardice—abruptly turned to face her attacker. Nose to nose, at less than an eighth impulse speed, the two ships fired everything they had at their disposal. The _Renown_ lurched to port as the Klingons disruptors hit home. The Klingons shields failed and left her wide open for another attack. It was just in time, too. The _Guardian_ headed in at half sublight and fired with full lasers, incinerating the Klingon destroyer.

The squadron of four D-4's that had previously been on the far side of Axanar was now in weapons range and moving quickly into an attack position. The _San Miguel_ faced off with an equally armed opponent. Garth, seeing that the _San Miguel_ was about to be flanked, sent out urgent orders to get assistance to her blind spot. The _Anzio_ swung to port to assist, but she wasn't fast enough, and the _Anzio_'s skipper watched helplessly as an enemy destroyer emerged from the blind spot and pounced on the _San Miguel_. First the _San Miguel_'s shields collapsed, then two of the Klingon destroyers began to work in unison…slicing long lines of white hot metal into the saucer section of the _San Miguel_. Half of the ship's primary hull exploded in seconds, sending debris vaulting into the _Anzio_'s shields.

Elsewhere, the arrival of the _Borga_ and _Austerlitz_ at the upper portion of the crescent met with a similar fate. Two Klingon destroyers broke from their formation and both centered their weapons on the _Austerlitz_. The first destroyer opened up with torpedoes, the second with torpedoes and disruptors. The Federation ship couldn't stand the pummeling and she disintegrated in moments.

With the destruction of the _Austerlitz_, the _Borga_ began taking fire almost instantly. With shields failing, Garth sent her Captain the order to make a hasty retreat to the far side of the Axanar. Unfortunately, there just wasn't enough time. Now that the two Klingon destroyers had the _Borga_ in their sights they weren't about to give the Federation destroyer a chance. They began pummeling the _Borga_ as she attempted to flee the zone. He warp pylon crumbled, then her impulse drive was rendered useless. She glided free of the zone on her own inertia, but Garth's sensors told him that life signs had dropped to zero on the small destroyer.

From somewhere behind the explosion that had engulfed the _Austerlitz_ moments before, the _Potemkin_ ran into the fray, now covered on her port side by the _Guardian_ and by the _Proxima_ on her starboard. Garth ordered the _Proxima_ to flank one of the enemy destroyers, and the _Anzio_ was ordered to do the same to the other enemy vessel. There were now only two Klingon ships remaining of the initial twelve. Conversely, Garth had only five ships left to his command, not counting the _Xenophon_.

The _Guardian_ moved into position beside the _Potemkin_, and with the _Renown,_ focused their combined firepower on one destroyer, leaving the remaining D-4 to the _Anzio_ and the _Proxima_. Garth set a course to intercept the _Potemkin_ at full impulse, sending out an emergency subspace communiqué to Captain Mitchell in the process.

The _Potemkin_ fired with torpedoes; two missing, one striking the Klingon mid-ship. The _Renown_ and the _Guardian_ took turns making laser runs against the Klingon destroyer. Once the enemies shields were down, the _Xenophon_ came in with lightning efficiency, beaming a security complement to the crippled Klingon destroyer and capturing the vessel in moments.

The _Anzio_ and the _Proxima_ began running a crisscross pattern over the remaining enemy vessel, alternating laser fire and torpedo strikes until the enemy vessel was little more than floating pile of scrap metal.

"* * * * *"

After the ensuing euphoria and adrenalin rush of combat had died down to a tenable level, Garth assessed the damage to his fleet. The _Potemkin_ was moderately damaged—and both the _Renown_ and the _Anzio_ had suffered from some minor hull buckling. The remainder of his fleet was able to maintain full combat readiness.

Garth's expeditionary team of security guards—led once again by the intrepid Leland Grant—that had beamed over to capture the Klingon destroyer had rendezvoused with the _Xenophon_ and Garth was eager to examine his spoil.

Communications officer Costas spoke up from his console, "Captain Garth, I have Lieutenant Grant on audio."

"On speakers, Lieutenant."

"Captain Garth, this is Grant."

"Yes. Well done, Lieutenant…or should I say, _Captain_?"

"It's all the same to me, skipper. We're calling in to report on our findings."

"Go ahead, Grant. We read you loud and clear. What is your status?"

"The ship's an awful mess, sir. Life support is barely functioning, computers are sketchy at best, and warp drive is totally offline. We'll need to beam over some engineers if we want to get her to a starbase in one piece."

"Understood, Lieutenant. Did you find any survivors?"

"Yes, sir. Three Klingon's in all. Two of them are junior officers from what we can tell and a third… well—"

Garth heard the hesitation in Grant's voice. "Well, what is it man?"

"Well, sir, it seems we've managed to secure Admiral Korhetza himself."

Garth's eyes went wide. It took him a moment to process what he had just heard. He leaned forward in his command chair, his eyes darting around the bridge of the _Xenophon_. The attention of everyone on the bridge was focused on their captain.

"Are you sure?" Garth asked, almost breathless.

"Yes, sir. I'm fairly certain. Granted, I'm only basing this on the trans-vids we've received on his general appearance. The prisoner himself is now unconscious, but was lucid when we first boarded the ship. He identified himself as Admiral Korhetza of the Imperial Fleet before passing out from wounds he sustained when the destroyer was damaged. We've stabilized his condition, but I don't know how much longer he'll be alive if we don't get him some proper care."

"Understood. I'll have two men beam over to take your 'junior Klingons' under guard and we can store them in the brig on the _Xenophon_. Have one of your men beam over with the Admiral to the _Potemkin_. I'll notify Captain Mitchell that you will be arriving shortly."

"Yes, sir. Standing bye."

"Lieutenant Costas, get me Captain Mitchell on subspace right away."

"Yes, sir."

'_He's never going to believe this…,' _Garth thought to himself.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

March, 2252

Stardate 4003.17

Incoming subspace communication….PRIORITY ONE….

FROM: Commodore Victor Basta, Commanding Officer, Starfleet Intelligence, Klingon Sector, Starbase Twenty-Three

TO: All Commanding Officers, Galaxy Exploration Command, Alpha Quadrant

SUBJ: PRIORITY SITUATION REPORT (PRISIPORT)

References:

(A) Federation Action Report (FEDACTPOR) from Delta Orcas System, February 2252.

(B) High Profile Prisoner of War, Admiral Korhetza personnel data file.

1. Per reference (A), Klingon forces in the Delta Orcas system, operating on and around the interdicted world of Axanar, have been destroyed.

2. All ground forces in that system have surrendered.

3. The planet Axanar is now under full protection and administration of the United Federation of Planets, pursuant to the Articles of the Federation, chapter nine, and is under the protection of Starfleet Command, pursuant to the aforementioned mentioned Articles of the Federation, chapter eight.

4. Per reference (B), Admiral Korhetza is under arrest, formally charged as a prisoner of war, and is being held at Starbase Twenty-Three until such time as the Federation Council seems fit to transfer the prisoner to a more suitable location.

5. Admiral Korhetza has given no information, either helpful or detrimental, to the war effort being waged against the Federation.

6. It is understood by all parties concerned that, even with the arrest of the Admiral, that the war effort itself is far from over. Although the Admiral was instrumental in the beginning stages of this conflict, it is further understood that the Klingon Empire has been building up to said conflict for some time now.

With the Klingon war machine now in full swing, Starfleet Intelligence believes that further hostilities against persons/planets under Federation jurisdiction near the Klingon Neutral Zone will increase, rather than decrease.

7. All area Commanders are required to furnish updates on all hostile actions, whether real or perceived, as soon as the information is on hand.

8. Further communications to follow shortly.

"* * * * *"

April, 2252

Stardate 4004.18

"Governor Simmons, I simply _cannot_ afford the reduction in manpower and equipment at this time. A starship and two light cruisers will simply have to suffice. Commodore Jarvis, Starbase twenty-three, out."

And with that the communications channel switched off. Governor Kyle Simmons was speechless. He had recently sent a request to the Federation officials at Starbase Twenty-Three—the nearest major outpost to their colony on Andromeda. _This was supposed to suffice as their official response? Unbelievable._

The planet Andromeda, so named because—as viewed from earth—the planet sat precisely in the center of what was known as the constellation Andromeda. The colony had been established almost twenty years ago and had since become a thriving metropolis populated by no less than two-hundred thousand residents representing at least a half-dozen different species. The planet was roughly fifteen parsecs from Starbase twenty-three—and almost as far from the Klingon neutral zone. Archanis was only eight parsecs due east by the Galactic Coordinate System.

_Far too close for comfort, _The Governor often thought these days. The colony was ripe for the picking to any Klingon ships that might venture into Federation space at this point. With Starfleet's resources strained dangerously thin, it would be some time until a major Federation task force could be assembled to defend the small planet. This was the reason for the Governors request to Starbase Twenty-Three to send reinforcements.

The heavy cruiser _Icarus_, having been on patrol duty near the system during the past week, was ordered to augment the colony's already assigned squadron of two light cruisers—the _Mohawk_ and the _Pinnacle_. While the three ships might have scared off any Klingon forces stupid enough to venture close to the colony before the outbreak of the war, now it seemed as if the small fleet of Federation starships would be woefully ill-equipped to handle any confrontation—should the Klingons decide to force a major conflict in the system.

Governor Simmons, however, was sure that a confrontation was eminent. He had heard, from various sources within the colony, that the Klingons had fished construction of a new shipyard near the Ruwan system, which sat just across the border in Klingon space. The T'Vam system lay directly between Andromeda and the Klingons, but Simmons knew firsthand that T'Vam carried nothing of value and was completely uninhabited. There were no materials for the Klingons to seize, and no population for them to enslave or massacre—as they had on Archanis. Andromeda would be the Klingons first choice for their next target—and Simmons knew it. That his request for reinforcements had been flatly denied had outraged the Governor to no end.

Simmons sat back in his padded chair and looked out the large southern window that faced the courtyard of the central administrative complex. He could see a man and a woman pushing a stroller down a gleaming white walkway, flanked on either side by meticulously cut grass and the occasional marble sculpture. The inhabitants of the colony had taken to the name Andromeda with a passion and had used it as a guide for their construction efforts. The colony looked like a modern day Rome, complete with pillars of white marble adorning all major metropolitan buildings. Governor Simmons watch as the young couple walked down the path without so much as a care in the universe. The weather today was perfect for such a stroll. _Was it also perfect for death?_

Simmons needed to quiet his mind. All of the stories coming into his officer about Klingon raiding parties running up and down the borders were starting to get to him. He needed reassurance on a regular basis that everything was alright; lest he go insane thinking of the what-if's of the universe. He decided to check-in on the _Icarus_…_just to be sure_.

"* * * * *"

"Captain, there is a message coming in from the planet surface. It's Governor Simmons…_again_."

Captain Michael Taylor, seated in the command chair in the center of the bridge, brought his right hand to his forehead and rubbed it absentmindedly. "Again, Ensign? This is the fifth time in the last two hours," He said, not even bothering to turn to the communications officer seated to his left.

"Yes, sir. Shall I advise him to signal later?"

Taylor had almost said yes. He wanted to—badly. It was getting to be too much to answer every call from the Governor, and the calls themselves had started to become more frequent. Taylor had half joked to his communications officer about constructing a generic message to send to the Governor each time he called, but then dismissed the idea just as quickly. It just wouldn't due to address a planetary official in that manner—even if it suited all practical purposes. This was something that would have to be addressed face-to-face.

"Is it audio only, or is there a video image?" Taylor asked. He hoped for the former.

"Audio and visual, sir," Came the reply from the ensign manning the communications station.

"Very well. Put it on the main screen."

The image on the view screen changed from a view of the planet below to the interior of Governor Kyle Simmons office. The Governor, a human male of perhaps fifty years old, stood motionless in the center of the room.

"Yes, Governor. What can I do for you?"

Simmons seemed to look away briefly, then back to the Captain. "I was just calling to check in. To make sure… that everything was alright," he said nervously.

Taylor put on his best 'calm' face. If he could persuade the Governor that everything was indeed 'alright', perhaps the man would stop calling at regular intervals and disrupting his starship.

"Everything is fine, Governor."

"Hum. No _unusual_ sensor contact?"

"No, sir."

"No spatial disturbances?"

"No, sir."

"No intercepted communications?"

"No, sir. In fact, there is _nothing_ new to report since our last communication thirty minutes ago." Taylor was trying not to let the annoyance he felt seep into their conversation. He only hoped that it was working.

"I understand, Captain, but one can never be too vigilant, you know," Simmons said, smiling an obviously nervous grin.

"Of course, Governor. Believe me—if anything out of the ordinary happens—you will be the first to know about it."

"Thank you, Captain. The residents of Andromeda are all counting on you and your vessels to defend us. We know you won't let us down."

"The thought never crossed my mind, Governor. We have some sensor and communication diagnostics to perform over the next hour or so. If you need anything, please feel free to contact Commander Adams onboard the _Pinnacle_."

"Of course, Captain Taylor. Andromeda station out." And with that the Governor's image faded from the viewer and was replaced by the vista of the planetoid below once again.

"Communications Officer, send Commander Adams my regards. I can't take any more of Governor Simmons right now. We need a break."

"Yes, sir. Sending your message now."

'_Finally_,' Taylor thought to himself as he eased back into his command chair. '_Some peace and quiet.'_

"* * * * *"

Governor Simmons crawled out from the rubble that used to be his office. The whole planet itself seemed to shake violently with each burst of enemy fire. Just as he moved out from beneath his table he could feel another rumble in the building, but this one was far less severe than the one that had shaken his walls almost to the ground moments ago. He stumbled across the shattered remains of his office and made it to the door.

He tried in vain to slide the doors open manually. There must have been some major structural damage to the foundations of the building, as the doors seemed to be welded shut. After a few more attempts to open the doors ended in futility he began searching his officer for his communicator. It was standard procedure for each member of the colony to carry one—he had just forgotten where he had put it. After all, he hadn't required its use in a long time.

He found a small wooden box on the floor underneath a toppled bookcase. He opened the box and—just where he had left it months ago—was his standard issue Starfleet communicator. He tried to flip his wrist to open the communicator, but found that the bones in his left arm were shattered. He fell to the floor in agony, clutching his wounded arm with his left hand as his communicator toppled helplessly to the floor. He reached out to the fallen communications device and used his mouth to hold the base as he used his remaining good hand to flip the device open.

"This is Governor Kyle Simmons to the U.S.S. _Icarus_. Respond please!" He pleaded into the device, not even sure if it was functioning. He regarded the communicator for a moment, then placed it on the floor and dialed in the Starfleet emergency frequency. He reached for the device and then felt another harsh rumble in the building.

"Repeat, this is Governor Simmons calling _any_ orbiting Federation starship. Please respond!"

His request was only met with static. _Where are you? Help us! _He couldn't get the words out of his mouth. He could discern the metallic taste of blood on his lips. He liked his lips and tried setting the communicator on a wide band search. _Hopefully_, he mused to himself, _this won't raise any Klingons as well._

"This is Governor Simmons. Please…respond."

After another burst of static a male voice was heard over the communications signal. "This is Commander Adams of the U.S.S. _Pinnacle_. Go ahead, Governor."

"Commander Adams, where is Captain Taylor? Where is the _Icarus_?" Simmons managed to get out between a series of violent coughs erupting from his lungs.

"Governor, the _Icarus_ has been destroyed. So has the _Mohawk_. The Klingons—" There was a burst of static and then the communicator went silent.

"Adams…_Adams! Respond!_" Kyle shouted, the pain in his chest increasing.

There was a loud burst of static in the communicator, followed by several loud pops. Adams voice then resumed. "Repeat…the Klingons came out of nowhere. We are vastly outnumbered. Don't… nk we can hold them off much long— ," then another burst of static.

Simmons fumbled at his communicator, trying to increase the signal strength to the orbiting starship.

"Adams, repeat. Did you say _Klingons_?" Simmons was frantic. As he waited for the _Pinnacle'_s next transmission the colony's air-raid sirens finally came online. _A little late, _Simmons thought to himself.

The communicators speaker again burst to life. "Affirmative. Multiple hostile contacts coming in from everywhere. It looks like an entire fleet…possibly an invasion force… Must have been hiding behind some moon or nearby star...Too many for us to handle. Our warp engines are off line…weapon system failing…we'll try to hold them off—" Then silence again. This time Simmons could see that the channel had been closed.

_They're all gone…and no one is coming to save us. Damn you, Jarvis, for not taking me seriously! I'm now the Governor of a dead world. All those people, all those lives…lost…because of your failure! _

The room started shaking again, this time more devastatingly than before. Simmons could hear the structure of the building giving way. He quickly picked himself up off the floor and looked to his window. A large support structure had fallen from the roof above. If he could manage to break through the window, he might be able to use the fallen beam as a slide and get out of administrate center before it collapsed entirely.

He went back to the fallen bookcase and searched for another box. He found it lying on the floor not far from the one that had held his communicator. He opened it and withdrew his standard type-two laser. Setting the beam to a narrow field he aimed it at the transparent aluminum of the window and fired several short bursts, carving out an exit in the process.

He picked up his fallen chair with his good arm and gave it a solid heave towards the window. The cut transparency gave way as the chair collided with it, causing both objects to hit the fallen beam and slide down to the courtyard two stories below.

_Successful test. Well, here goes. _Governor Simmons could feel the building start to gave way as he propped himself in the window ledge. With one swing he was sliding feet first down the steel beam. Just before he reached the bottom of the beam he noticed a rather large mass of twisted metal—not to mention his old chair—were pointed directly on his course. He rolled off the beam at the last minute, impacting on the grass and tumbling down a small embankment, ending up face down in a small stream.

He picked himself up, not sure if he should be clutching the broken wrist he received in his office or the bruised knees he had just gotten. He steadied himself on the embankment and sat down, his feet still sloshing about in the water.

He could see bolts of green energy coming down from the sky and impacting some of the rooftops about a kilometer away. The fragile wooden and plaster structures were no match for the heavy Klingon disruptors. The erupted like so many matchstick houses each time the Klingons scored a successful hit. Simmons could see the people scurrying about, trying in vain to find adequate shelter from the orbital onslaught they were being subjected to.

Just then a photon torpedo came streaking out of the sky and struck the top of the administrative building where—only minutes before—Simmons' office had been located. The walls burst outward as the ceiling caved in on itself. Kyle, having no better alternative, tucked his arms over his head and rolled the rest of the way down the steep, grass slope toward what used to be the water treatment plant at the base of the hill. It was just in time, too. The rest of the administrative building collapsed in a heap of rubble and dust just as the Governor made his improvised escape.

"* * * * *"

Every bone in Kyle's body ached. He felt as if he had just been pulled apart at every joint and then thrown back together haphazardly. How long had he been unconscious? He had no idea. Perhaps a minute…perhaps an hour. He had no perception of time at the moment. The thing that had awoken him was the air-raid sirens. They had been silenced just as the Administrative building was destroyed. Somehow they had managed to come back online again. Perhaps there were other survivors in the ruins as well. Kyle needed to know.

He got to his feet and began limping through the streets. The shooting had stopped—and he felt exceedingly grateful for it. He rounded a corner and was making his way to the colony hospital. After navigating around some roadblocks created by fallen debris, he finally made his way to the entrance of the Aceso Medical Center—so named by the colonists, who themselves had found humor in naming conventional structures after ancient Greek god's and goddesses.

As fate would have it, there was a Doctor on call in the structure. The building itself had taken at least one direct hit and the south wing was completely demolished. There were several wounded colonists in the ward—their bodies in various states of trauma. The Doctor, upon seeing the Governor stumble in, immediately went to his side. He helped him to a nearby medical bed and—after laying Simmons down—began his medical scans.

"A few broken bones and some bruised ribs, Governor, but I think you'll pull through."

The Governor looked to the Doctor. He was a young man, probably in his mid-twenties. If it weren't for the expert way he handled his medical scanner—and the bone knitting laser—the Governor would never have thought this young man to be a Doctor.

"Thank you, Doctor," Kyle said. The pain in his wrist was almost completely gone within moments. "I don't recall seeing you here before."

The Doctor smiled as he waved his medical scanner over the Governors legs. "Are you telling me you remember _every_ face on this planet?"

Simmons smiled. "I review all the records of personnel assigned to this planet. I don't recall seeing your face in those files, Doctor."

The Doctor smiled back, not saying anything.

"It is _Doctor_…isn't it? The Governor asked in a skeptical tone.

"Oh yes, I'm _very_ much a Doctor. I'm just not assigned to this planet. I beamed down from the _Icarus_ a few days ago."

"So…you were part of her crew, then?"

"Well, not exactly." The Doctor said, closing his medical tricorder. "I'm on my way back to Earth. I was on Dramia II."

Suddenly the Governor remembered the Dramia system. "Ah, yes. The…epidemic, right?"

"That's right. I headed the program and—once we were finished—I was supposed to get back home to see my wife."

The Governor coughed slightly as he raised himself to rest on his elbows. "I received a communication from Commander Adams onboard the _Pinnacle_. All of the orbiting starships were destroyed in the battle."

The doctor raised an eyebrow, then flipped his scanners back towards the Governor's body. "I'm sorry to hear that, Governor Simmons. There were a lot of good people on those ships." The doctor's voice trailed off, then began again. "—some I would have liked to have stayed in contact with after this mission."

"I understand." The Governor replied. "Do you think the Klingons will be back?"

"Honestly, who could understand the mind of a Klingon?" The Doctor said, now visibly distraught and angry. "_Vicious animals!_ They're a menace to everything civilized people hold dear! I'd like nothing more than to see each and every last one of them endure the same kind of suffering they've inflicted on the people of Andromeda!" His voice trailed off again, only to come back a moment later. "I don't think they'll be back, Governor. Their primary targets would probably have been the destruction of the starships and the colony. From the looks of it, I'd say their mission was a complete success."

"Is the hospital's subspace communicator still operational?"

The Doctor stopped scanning his patient for a moment. "How do I know? I'm a Doctor, not a tour guide. I don't even know where the blasted thing is. I've been busy treating these people… or what's left of them, anyways."

Kyle let out a long sigh. "I understand, Doctor. I think I'm well enough to search through this mess to try and locate it."

"Normally for a patient in your condition I'd try to keep you in bed as long as possible, but under the circumstances I think we need to get some aid here as fast as possible. That damn transmitter is the only way I know to do it. I think I heard one of the orderlies say it was in the North wing, second floor."

"I guess I'll have to see for myself. Thank you Doctor," Simmons said, getting up from the table and heading out for the door. Simmons turned as he reached the door and regarded the young man who had helped him. The Doctor had already moved to another patient, one with a badly wounded leg.

"I say, young man… um, _Doctor_?"

"Yes?" He replied, not even losing focus from his current patient.

"Do you have a name? Starfleet will want to know who the medical point of contact here is."

"Sure do. Name's McCoy, Leonard McCoy."

"Very well, Doctor McCoy. I'll get help coming as soon as I can."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

May 2252

Stardate 4005.03

My beloved K'Tanna,

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days—perhaps tomorrow. We are deep in enemy territory, and our casualties have been many. No doubt you have heard of the fall of the Federation fleet at Genmarx. While it was our squadron that dealt the death throws to the weakling humans, they have exacted a heavy loss on our personnel. Should I be unable to write you again, I feel impelled to write lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.

Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full of glory—and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. Not my will, but for the good of the Empire, be done. If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my Emperor, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly Klingon expansion now leans upon the triumph of the military, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through their blood and suffering. And I am willing—perfectly willing—to lay down all my pleasures in this life, to help maintain the Klingon Empire, and to repay that debt.

But, my mate, when I know that with my own joys I lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with cares and sorrows—when, after having eaten for long years the bitter fruit of orphanage myself, I must offer it as their only sustenance to my children—is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze, that my unbounded love for you, my beloved, and children should struggle in fierce, though useless, contest with my love of duty to the Empire?

I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm night, when four hundred proud warriors are sleeping around me, many of them enjoying the last, perhaps, before that of death—and I, suspicious that Death is creeping behind me with his fatal knife, am communing with Kahless, my soul, and thee.

I have sought most closely and diligently, and often in my breast, for a wrong motive in thus hazarding the happiness of those I loved and I could not find one. A pure love of my Empire and of its principles have often advocated before the people and "the name of honor that I love more than I fear death" have called upon me, and I have obeyed without question.

K'Tanna, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Gre'Thor could break; and yet my love for the Empire comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.

The memories of the fleeting moments I have spent with you come preying upon me at night, and I feel most gratified to you that I have enjoyed them for so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of the future years we might still have lived and loved together and seen our sons grow up around us to become honorable warriors. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon providence, but something whispers to me—it calls me to my fate. If I do not return, my dear K'Tanna, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name as I enter the gates of Sto'Vo'Kor.

Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have oftentimes been! How gladly would I wash out with my blood every little spot upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of this universe, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I must watch you from Sto'Vo'Kor and hover near you, while you buffet the storms of your life, and wait with devoted patience till we meet to part no more.

But, O K'Tanna! If the dead can come back to this universe and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the most garish day and in the darkest night—amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours - always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or when the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.

K'Tanna, do not mourn me dead. Only, think that I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again in the next world.

As for my sons, they will grow as I have done, and never know a father's love and care. Kang is too young to remember me long, and my dark eyed Kranak will keep my teachings with him among the dimmest memories of his childhood. K'Tanna, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care and your development of their characters. Tell my mother I call to Kahless. K'Tanna, I wait in the afterlife for you. Come to me, and therein lead my sons also.

Colonel Ko'Ral,

Commander, 127th Cruiser Squadron

"* * * * *"

June 2252

"Captains log: Stardate 4006.28. This morning we linked up with our escorts, the _Loknar_-class destroyers U.S.S. _Buena Vista_ and U.S.S. _Demetrius_. And by early afternoon we had completed several battle readiness exercises. I am pleased to report that both of our escorts scored extremely high. Both destroyer commanding officers, Commander Hirschman of the _Buena Vista,_ and Commander Macknair of the _Demetrius_, are both to be commended on the efficiency of their vessels in a crisis situation, albeit simulated ones. I'm pleased to have such well trained officers at the ready—should we need them.

On a more personal note; Chief Engineer Jepsen is back at his post and performing admirably, considering his recent loss. Navigator Lieutenant Visuete is in sickbay due to a recent illness of an unknown type. However, Doctor Peralto tells me it's nothing serious—probably just a mild stomach flu. Also of note: Ensign Elena Mosty is now the proud mother of a bouncing baby boy. After careful consideration, she has decided _against_ the name 'Jearoldene' and has elected to name her son Sterling.

The _Constitution _and her escorts—having arrived in the Zeta Gellius system—are now on course for the fourth planet of that system, called Lea, at full impulse power. I have to admit that I have some reservations about taking such a small force into that region of space. With the destruction of the outpost on Andromeda, and the decimation of the Federation fleet at Genmarx, this area of space is now devoid of any assistance we may need if we happen to run in to any trouble. I sit on the bridge, uncomfortably knowing that the Klingons could be hiding almost anywhere in the thirty-six square parsecs of empty space that now surround us. Starfleet Intelligence is quick to assure us that we have nothing to fear—that the Klingons are planning a large action far to our Galactic North—probably near the planet Lyclyd Un or the Topax system. I wish that information was, in itself, enough to steady my nerves."

Captain Jerold Duval, seated comfortably in his quarters, signed off from his personal log and headed for the bridge of his ship. Upon arrival, he slid into the command chair and touched the small white control on the right armrest that would initiate an intercom channel to the chief engineer. "Bridge to engineering."

"Engineering here." It was the voice of Jepsen.

Captain Duval pursed his lips as he looked down to the speaker on the armrest. It was good for Jepsen to be back at his station. Duval needed his most competent officers at their assigned posts for the next several hours. As soon as the ships reached the Lea system they were supposed to be reinforced with other Federation vessels. Until then, however, they would have to maintain a full battle readiness status.

"Status of the engines, Commander?"

The low tone of the engineer's voice came back over the speaker almost immediately. "Operating at near one-hundred percent efficiency, sir."

"How close are we to achieving full efficiency?"

"About three more percent, Captain. I have specialist McGuniess pulling double-duty down here and we're working as fast as we can."

"Understood. Keep me informed, Commander. I want to be notified immediately each time the engine efficiency is increased by half a percent."

"Yes, sir. Every half-percent. Jepsen out."

Duval pushed the small button on his armrest again and closed the communications channel. He turned in his chair to face his science officer. Lieutenant Commander Devorak was one of his most competent officers. Even as a human his skill at the science station was matched by few others in the fleet, and that included Vulcans—who themselves were revered as the best science officers in the Federation.

"Sensor scan, Mr. Devorak. What's out there?"

Devorak, who was monitoring computer usage at that precise moment, got up from his chair and peered into the sensor scanner. The blue light bathed his eyes as he glanced over the short range scans of the sector.

"Nothing in the immediate area, Captain."

"Nothing?" Duval asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

"Nothing _out of the ordinary_, sir." Devorak said as he turned away from the scanner to face his Captain. "Unless you account for a class-one comet that is four-thousand kilometers off our starboard beam."

"And you don't find that unexpected, Mr. Devorak?"

Devorak clasped his hands behind his back. "No, sir. Not at all. The comet is known as Stellar Artifact One-Four-Four-Seven. Its course has been observed as going through this region of space precisely every twenty-two point-six years. We should consider it an… _expected_ object."

Duval stifled a laugh, but smiled none the less. "I see. Thank you."

"Of course, sir," Devorak said, then returned to his previous task of monitoring the main computer's storage banks.

Duval looked to the forward view screen and the expanse of stars slowly moving past the ship as she sped along her course to the Lea system.

"* * * * *"

Ko'Ral peered into the scanner at the science officer's station. The science officer, a young warrior who had come up through the ranks a little too quickly, had relinquished his post only moments before at the request of the squadron Commander.

"Lieutenant Wartok—" Ko'Ral said, looking up from the scanner and leveling his gaze on the ship's helmsman. "—you have done well. The entire squadron appears to fully immersed in the comet's tail. The Federation ships show no sign of detection. You are to be commended."

Wartok gave his commanding officer a curt nod. "It is my honor to serve, Colonel."

"_Indeed_." Ko'Ral said in a lowered voice, as much to himself as to the bridge officer he addressed. He stood up straight and moved toward the aft end of the bridge. "Warriors," he said, addressing the entire bridge. Those Klingons not fully immersed in their duties turned in unison to face their Commander. "—the time to strike is near. Ready all departments for the coming engagement. Send a coded message to the squadron Commanders: We move out in two-minutes. Set all disruptors to ready condition. Kaplah!" He said, finishing his statement by smacking a closed fist against his chest.

"Kaplah!" The officers responded together.

"* * * * *"

Jerold Duval placed his hands on the food tray and slid it out of the replicator slot in the wall. He had been looking forward to this meal for some time...and his growling belly agreed with him. After passing up several officers who had dutifully offered him a seat at their table, he found a quiet seat near one of the starboard observation windows. It was one of his favorite seats on the ship, and he much preferred to dine with the crew instead of being only with his senior staff or eating alone in his quarters.

He sipped as his coffee, noting with disapproval that it tasted much more bitter than usual. He licked his lips and scrutinized his cup. '_Must be a replicator malfunction. I'll have to remember to get Jepsen to look into this._' He mused to himself. '_Can't have the Capitan going without a descent cup of coffee now, can we?_' He put the libation to his lips again as he glanced out the window. He could see the comet that Devorak had mentioned earlier. Duval had advised his helm officer to plot a course correction that would take them near the object. It was a good diversion, and it certainly got the crews mind off of the monotony of their current mission. It also helped that the comet was 'going their way', as Devorak has said.

Duval watched as the _Constitution_ kept pace with the comet, its soft white tail trailing the nearly three-kilometer sized central ball of ice for at least a quarter of a parsec. It was beautiful and it was mysterious all at the same time. Duval pondered the comets beginnings, where it had come from—and what was to be its end. He set his coffee down and, having retrieved his ham sandwich, gave the comet one last cursory glance before consuming his lunch.

He did a double take almost immediately.

What was once just the soft tail of the comet in the view port was now a background to several Klingon cruisers heading it at high impulse—and they were aimed directly at the _Constitution_.

Duval's mouth gaped open as he dropped his sandwich to the plate. "Red alert…" He said, coughing back some of the coffee that had welled back up in his throat. After a loud cough he rose to his feet, knocking his table off balance and sending his lunch crashing to the floor. The inhabitants of the mess hall—some thirty crewmen—looked to their Captain stunned. "Red alert!" he screamed to them. "All hands to battle stations! Now people! _On the double!_"

As he finished his words the alert klaxon sounded throughout the _Constitution_s interior. He rushed from the mess hall and crowded into the nearest turbo lift. His command to the lift to take him to the bridge overrode anyone else's request to go to a different level. He stepped out of the crowded shaft onto the bridge just as the first disruptor blasts slammed against the shields.

"* * * * *"

Ko'Ral sat at the edge of his command chair. He had just opened a channel to the Captains of the twelve D-4's of the 127th Cruiser squadron.

"Groups One and Two, target the first Federation destroyer. Full disruptors! Destroy them. I will attack the heavy cruiser myself."

With that, nine cruisers sped away from the flagship and began firing—almost simultaneously—on the destroyer _Buena Vista_. The Klingon ships neatly surrounded the small destroyer from almost every angle, splitting up the Federation formation in a mass of chaos.

"* * * * *"

The view screen on the _Constitution_ lit up as the combined Klingon disruptor fire instantly crippled the _Buena Vista_'s shields. It took only a brief second for the enemy fire to lance out again and strike her unprotected hull. She was holed through almost a half-dozen times before she crumpled—then exploded—under the combined onslaught.

"All power to the shields. Hard to starboard!" Duval screamed.

"* * * * *"

Ko'Ral, seizing his opportunity for a strike, wasted no time.

"Target the cruisers engineering section. All forward weapons, fire!"

The green disruptor beams shot out from the forward banks of the lead D-4, striking mercilessly against the shields of the namesake of the _Constitution_-class vessels.

"Their shields are holding." The tactical officer on the Klingon ship said aloud to Ko'Ral.

"Then we shall hit them _again!_ No mercy to the weaklings!"

Two more D-4's from Ko'Ral's group moved into a flanking position and alternated striking the _Constitution_ with disruptor and torpedo blasts. In seconds the Starfleet vessel shields had fallen.

Ko'Ral moved his cruiser into firing range again and the white hot disruptors of his flagship lanced out and struck the _Constitution_ precisely where his first barrage had targeted.

The hull plating of the Federation vessel buckled under the Klingons weapon fire. A large gash in the gleaming white metal of the cruiser began to open in her side, spilling out her contents into the coldness of space.

Ko'Ral's ship peeled away from the wounded Federation cruiser as another Klingon vessel moved in for a clear shot. This time the target was the starboard warp pylon. However, the Klingon gunner was not nearly as accurate as the squadron Commander had been. Instead of hitting the warp engine pylon, the engine cap itself was struck. The transparent red ramscoop of the warp engine exploded, sending shards of white-hot transparent aluminum in every direction.

The _Demetrius_—on the other hand—was being pursued by no less than four Klingon cruisers. Her Captain was doing a skillful job of keeping the little destroyer just outside of the Klingons weapons range, but the cost of those maneuvers rendered her unable to defend against the damage her comrades were suffering.

"* * * * *"

"Colonel Ko'Ral," The weapons officer stated from his post. "One Federation destroyer has been eliminated. The heavy cruiser is disabled and is losing power. The remaining destroyer is out of weapons range, but it should only be a matter of time before our forces catch up to it and destroy it."

Ko'Ral pondered this for a moment. This had been too easy, he thought to himself. The Federation forces had put up almost no fight. The remaining Starfleet destroyer commander was a _coward_ to leave his comrades in the heat of battle. There was no honor in pursuing and killing them, nor was there any to be gained in dealing the death blow to a wounded vessel that had no hope of striking back.

"Communications officer, order all ships to regroup." Ko'Ral said, not taking his eyes from the Federation cruiser spilling it's innards into space.

The weapons officer leapt from his station and glared at his Captain. "Permit me to destroy them while we have the advantage, _Colonel!_"

Ko'Ral slowly stood up from his command chair and began staring down the junior officer. "You will mind your place, _Lieutenant!_" He said slowly—ominously. That was all the reminder the junior officer needed. He slowly slunk back down into the tactical station. Ko'Ral kept his unflinching gaze at the junior officer.

"There is no further honor to be gained in this engagement. We have dealt them a mighty blow. We shall leave them as they are…their nightmares of this battle will haunt them for weeks to come. We have instilled fear in their hearts—and it is a fear they will never forget. We shall move on to more glorious targets. "

The tactical officer, having deemed Ko'Ral's statement sufficient, nodded his head slowly. "Understood, my lord."

Ko'Ral walked to the weapons officer and placed a firm hand on the junior officer's shoulder. "We will search for more glorious targets, young one. These weaklings are no longer a threat to anyone."

"Yes, sir. Our victory is complete." The young Klingon said, a devilish smile playing across his face.

Ko'Ral tightened his grip on the Klingon's shoulder. "And you have done _well_. I will remember you in my report."

The younger Klingon beamed with pride. It was a high honor to be mentioned by name in the Captain's log. It would go on his permanent record with the Imperial Navy and was sure to lead to a rapid promotion. He turned from Ko'Ral and looked to the damaged Federation cruiser limping off of their view screen. After a moment Ko'Ral looked to the screen himself.

"They will be slaves to fear tonight."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

July 2252

Office of Intelligence and War Planning, Starbase Twenty-Three

Stardate 4007.04

"Captain Watts, please come in." Commodore Jarvis said, motioning to the open doorway in which he stood.

Bob Watts walked briskly through the door and entered the briefing room. He immediately noticed that the rear wall of the office was adorned with two large display screens, each showing the various movements of Federation and Klingon forces around the planet Tabulon, on which Starbase Twenty-Three was located. The screen on the right showed all major systems within a ten-parsec radius of the Starbase, the other screen showing a much more close up view of five-parsecs and contained detailed information on the Federation ships in those sectors.

"Happy Independence Day, by the way. Please Captain...Have a seat" Jarvis said. Watts noticed another man already seated at the long briefing table in the center of the room. When the man rose from his chair Watts noticed the thick gold braids that surrounded the cuffs of the officers uniform. He walked to within an arms distance to Captain Watts.

"Captain Watts, I'm Admiral Lang of Starfleet Intelligence." The Admiral extended a warm hand to Bob.

"Yes, sir. I know who you are. It's a please to meet you." After a brief but firm shake, the three men seated themselves at the briefing room table.

"And you as well, Captain. May I call you Robert?"

Watts was taken aback by the informality. He had never known an Admiral to be so easy going as to want to call him by his first name. Then again, the _Rutherford_ had been in space for quite a long time. Perhaps his reputation had preceded him.

"Bob will be fine, sir." Watts replied with a small curl at the edge of his lips.

"Excellent. And I take it you already know Commodore Jarvis?"

Watts shot Jarvis a sidelong glance. Yes, he knew the man. He also knew that Jarvis could very well be the one person responsible for the massacre at Andromeda. It was all over the communications network. Jarvis had—at his disposal—far more ships than he needed at the moment. Klingon actions were centered far away from Tabulon at the time of the Battle of Andromeda. It wouldn't have been any inconvenience for him to at least send a cruiser...or even a destroyer…to assist the small Federation colony. Instead—as the rumors held—Jarvis had horded as many ships as he could to bolster his own personal sense of safety. Watts secretly hoped that this meeting between the three officers was a prelude to a General Inquiry on Jarvis…one in which Watts would be all to happy to include himself, if only to get all the facts out onto the table.

"Yes, sir. I know of him." Watts replied and left the explanation at that.

"Good, then I'll get right to the point then. Long range sensors have picked up a Klingon convoy six parsecs from here. They appear to be on a course that will take them near the Xamdab system."

"Xamdab?" Watts asked.

"Xamdab II, to be precise, Captain." Jarvis corrected. Watts shot him another sideways glace, then looked to the Admiral again.

"I'm afraid I'm not too familiar with that system, Admiral."

Lang leaned back in his chair. "It's not what's in there that's important, Captain. The Xamdab system was—before the war started—under consideration of a federation mining complex. We had sent some survey teams there, but they didn't stay long enough to do any real investigations of the systems."

"Are the survey teams in danger?" Watts asked as he leaned forward in his chair.

Admiral Lang held his hands out, as if to calm Watts's sense of urgency. "No, no. Not at all. There hasn't been any official Federation presence in the system for sometime."

"Official? What about…?" Watts asked curiously, letting his words trail off and hoping the Admiral knew the unspoken end of his sentence.

Lang let out a soft chuckle. "I know what you're getting at, Captain. No, nothing unofficial either."

"Then I'm afraid I don't understand at all, sir."

Lang got up from his chair and passed to the large view screen on the left. He punched in a few commands and a close up view of the Xamdab system came into focus. "Starfleet Intelligence believes the Klingon's are going to try and set up a supply base, possibly even a Starbase, in the Xamdab system. Specifically, here…" Lang pointed to the planet identified as Xamdab II.

"It's a bit of a rock, really. Class-L: minimal water and resources….no indigenous life forms…. sparse plant vegetation."

Bob was beginning to see the picture. "And you think that's what the enemy convoy is doing? You think they are transporting materials to the planet to construct this base?"

Jarvis nodded approvingly. "Precisely, Captain. We feel that is their intentions."

Admiral Lang sat back in his chair. "That's where the _Rutherford_ comes in. I already have Captain Yale Hathaway in the Selka system, about two parsecs from Xamdab. I want you to take the _Rutherford, _as well as the destroyer_ Cambodia,_ and link up with Yale's forces to coordinate an attack on the convoy. We need the finely tuned sensors of the _Rutherford_ to help take down those Klingon supply ships."

Bob knew that the _Cambodia_ was part of the flotilla assigned to Star base Twenty-Three. She had made fleet news when she disabled, and subsequently captured, a Klingon cruiser that had strayed too close to the star base about a month ago. Watts again looked to Jarvis, his gaze on the Commodore unflinching even as he continued to speak to the Admiral.

"Are you sure Commodore Jarvis can afford to be without one of his ships, Admiral?"

Apparently, Lang either didn't get the implication that Watts was trying to make or the Admiral simply ignored it.

"Commodore Jarvis currently has enough ships at his disposal to ward off any attack within three parsecs of this station. One more ship would make very little difference here, but could make an enormous amount of difference in another part of space."

"Hence, Xamdab." Watts said deadpan

"Correct." Replied the Admiral. "I'll need you to get underway as soon as possible, Bob. I've taken the liberty of informing the Captain of the _Cambodia_ to expect a communications from you within the hour, and that you will be outlining the forthcoming mission objectives to him at that time."

Bob stood up from the briefing table, and a second later Jarvis and Lang did the same.

"Yes, sir. We'll get underway within the hour. The _Rutherford_ should be finalizing her supply replenishment as we speak."

"The _Cambodia_ is fully manned and stocked. You'll find her Captain is competent and his ship is run as tight as they come. At warp seven you should be there in just under twelve days, which should be about two days ahead of the Klingon's at their present speed. We'll be awaiting the after action report once this raid is done with. Good luck, Captain." Lang said, shaking Captain Watts's hand once more.

"Thank you, Admiral." Bob said, then left the office in search of the nearest turbo lift back to the shuttle bay.

"* * * * * *"

"Captains log: Stardate 4007.16. We have just rendezvoused with the last remnant of our task force. Captain Watts of the _Rutherford_, as well as Commander Hansen of the destroyer _Cambodia_, have introduced themselves to the rest of the fleet. I've assigned Captain Watts to cover the long range sensor scans while we are on approach to the Xamdab system. Commander Hansen will use his destroyer to cover our rear guard.

We've just received our final intelligence report on the Klingon convoy that we are to engage. Intelligence believes that the Klingon freighters are of the older _G-4_ class. I hope this proves accurate, as the _G-4's_ are well known for being unarmed and easy targets. Unfortunately, this also means that the Klingon's could have some heavier ships in their convoy as a protective screen.

Task Force-Twelve, as we are known by Starfleet Command, is composed mostly of destroyers, with the _Exeter_ and the _Rutherford_ being the only two cruisers. The _Exeter_ will take the lead in the engagement, as I feel it is the force commander's responsibility to do so. We've heard disquieting rumors that Starfleet command is considering decommissioning the Exeter. While I have my reservations about leaving my home for the last five years, I hear her name is going to be passed on to a ship in the new _Constitution_-class. If we should fail in this engagement with the Klingon's, then may the same sprit and strength that have guided the _Exeter_ thus far fly swiftly to her new namesake. My next log entry will dictate weather or not we will be there at the commissioning ceremony."

Captain Hathaway got up from his command chair on the bridge of the _Exeter_, relinquishing command to the helmsman for the time being. He slipped quietly into the turbolift and—after a moment—it deposited him on deck six. The Captain headed straight for the arboretum, his home away from the bridge.

He found the peace and quiet of this place highly appealing. The smell of the flowers and fresh plants, the synthesized sounds of birds of various species chirping in the background, the feel of the small patch of soft grass—one that he insisted himself be installed onboard—under his feet, it all came together and calmed his nerves like nothing else he had found in the universe.

Yale took several long breaths, inhaling the sweet air through his mouth and exhaling slowly through his nose. After all, it was just what the doctor had ordered last month when the Captain's physical fitness report indicated that the man was under an enormous amount of stress. It was to be expected, the doctor had assured him, as invariably all commanding officers and their crews would feel such strains in times of war. Still, the doctor had advised the captain to "stop and smell the roses" from time to time. That the captain had taken the doctor literally hadn't mattered much to the ships physician, just so long as it had the desired effect on the Hathaway.

Yale began clenching his toes into fists, feeling the moisture on the blades of grass begin to tickle the sides of his toes. Just as he found his own personal spot of peace he was immediately pulled from it by the ships intercom.

"Captain Hathaway-come in, please." The communications officer said through the wall mounted speaker.

Reluctantly, Yale walked over to the intercom and pressed the respond button.

"Yes, Lieutenant. What is it?"

"Sir, the _Rutherford_ had indicated a positive sensor lock on the Klingon convoy."

"Thank you. Pipe me over to the navigator's console."

"Yes, sir. Transferring now." After a brief pause the helmsman's voice came over the speaker.

"Thompson here, sir."

"Mr. Thompson, time to intercept enemy forces?"

"According to current sensor readings from the _Rutherford_ it looks like we have about ten minutes until the _Exeter_ makes visual contact with the Klingon's. The _Cambodia_, being the farthest ship in the task force, will have visual contact in fifteen minutes."

Hathaway let out an inaudible sigh. _Ten minutes_, he thought wistfully. He had hoped for a little more warning.

"Very good, Lieutenant. Advise communications to keep an open channel to the _Cambodia_. I don't want her being out of the loop once we engage the Klingon's. A five minute lag could mean life or death to us…or to her."

"Understood, sir."

"I'll be returning to the bridge shortly." The captain looked over at his discarded boots lying in the grass. He hoped deep in his heart he would be able to return to this place when the battle was over.

"God be with us all." He said to the breeze blowing softly across his brow from the overhead ventilation.

"* * * * * *"

"All phasers, fire!"

The side of the Klingon freighter opened up like a tin can, ripping the small vessel in half and venting its contents into the vacuum of space.

"Direct hit, sir! That makes twelve so far!"

Hathaway leaned back in his command chair. _This is almost too easy_, he thought to himself. Sure enough, the convoy had its share of armed escorts, but they were easily dispatched in the first few minutes of combat. Truth be told, Hathaway was surprised to see that such a large convoy of supply transports—numbering around twenty-four—had been so lightly guarded. There had only been three _D-4 _light cruisers to defend the entire flotilla.

The rest of the convoy was made entirely of _G-4_ transports. The small Klingon freighters, reminiscent of Terran Catfish, with long proboscis like protrusions coming off the forward hull and oriented backwards, were both lightly armed and armored. Their lumbering speeds had made them easy prey to the faster Federation warships. It had been a huge blessing to Yale and the rest of Task Force-Twelve.

"This reminds me of the Marianas Turkey Shoot back in World War II of old Earth history" Yale had said to his weapons officer.

"Turkey shoot, sir?" The young Ensign replied. "I thought killing Turkey's was illegal?"

Yale laughed. "Remind me to give you a history lesson when we're finished here, Ensign."

The younger man turned in his seat to face his instruments. "Yes, sir." He droned softly.

Thompson spoke up from the helm. "Captain, the Rutherford is now along our starboard beam and gaining speed."

"Very good, Lieutenant. Let's let them take a few Klingon's out themselves. We can't horde all the good fortune."

Thompson smiled, slowing the ship by one-quarter impulse. "Yes, sir. Understood." Thompson hadn't seen his Captain in such good spirits in quite some time.

"* * * * * *"

"Captain, the _Exeter_ is slowing…"

"Hathaway is giving us the right-of-way." Watts said gleefully. "Ahead, one-half impulse."

Watts watched on the view screen as the _Rutherford_ slipped slowly passed the _Exeter_.

"Sir, target coming into range."

Watts stepped up behind his weapons officer. "Target their engines. Photon torpedoes only."

"Aye, sir. Torpedoes loaded and ready."

"Fire."

The two torpedoes sped out from the forward hull of the _Rutherford_ and found their intended target only a second later. The _G-4's_ forward hull took the brunt of the damage. One of the proboscis-like antennas sheared off and floated into the eternity of space. The bridge was smashed beyond recognition.

"They are listing to port, sir."

"Sensor scan." Watts said to his science officer.

"Life support is failing. Internal gravity is compromised."

"Can we get a lock on the survivors?"

The science officer made a few adjustments to his instruments. "Affirmative, Captain. There are approximately a dozen life-forms onboard."

The captain hit the button on the armrest of his chair that linked his post directly to the transporter room. "Transporter room, lock on and beam the survivors directly to a holding cell."

"Aye, sir." Came the female reply.

"Communications, signal Captain Hathaway that we have taken prisoners into custody."

"Yes, sir. Encoding your transmission now."

"Weapons officer, target the Klingon freighter and destroy it."

"Already targeted, sir. Firing phasers."

The energy beams projected out of the upper saucer section of the _Rutherford_ and struck home on the Klingon ship, which exploded a brief second later.

"Sir," The communications officer said hurriedly. "Captain Hathaway is requesting that all Federation ships now move to capture as many freighters as possible. Destroy the ships only when absolutely necessary."

"Acknowledge that order, Lieutenant." Watts said, satisfied with the amount of destruction the task force had dealt to the Klingon's thus far.

"Brig us along side our next target. Weapons officer, disable the shields."

"Aye, sir."

"Communications officer, get me ship security."

The Ensign tapped lightly at her controls. "Security Chef Robolo standing by, Captain."

Watts stepped up behind the communications officer. "Chief Robolo, form a boarding party. All hands are to be armed with phasers set on stun. I want full tricorder scans the moment the beam-down site is secure. I don't want you to run into any unexpected trouble over there."

"Understood, sir. We'll be in the transporter room in two minutes."

"Excellent, Chief. Good hunting."

"Thank you, sir."

"* * * * * *"

Robolo, a tall, burly man in his early forties, materialized with the rest of his team of five on the damaged Klingon freighter. The first thing he noticed with that the air was musty…almost acidic. Two of the members of the landing party began sweeping the area with their tricorders.

"All clear, Chief." The two men said, almost in unison.

"Alright, men...check that your phasers are on stun. Any other setting might set of a chain reaction in one of these busted pipes that goes to God knows where. I don't want any accidents in here, and I certainly don't want this thing blowing up from underneath us. I want you to split up into teams of two. I want reports every five minutes. It shouldn't take us long to search the belly of this whale to see what's she's swallowed."

The rest of the team gave their silent acknowledgement of the Chief's order and split up. Robolo headed directly to the upper cargo holds with the tall and lanky Ensign Lockerman close at his heals. They had just rounded a corner when they came upon the sealed door of the upper hold.

"Lockerman, what can you make of this locking mechanism?" Robolo asked over the hiss of a pipe that was venting steam nearby.

Lockerman stepped close to the panel, waving his tricorder slightly in its direction. "Honestly, Chief, it looks like junk. It'd be easier to shoot it with our phaser than it would be to try our luck at breaking into it."

Robolo scanned the door with his dark eyes. "What's beyond it?" He motioned at the door with a nod of his head.

Lockerman looked to his tricorder. "Indeterminate. There is heavy shielding inside the compartment."

"That explains why the brass wanted to catch a few of these things intact. The sensors on the _Rutherford_ probably aren't doing any better than your tricorder."

"Probably not, Chief."

Robolo looked to the door, then down the passageway that they had just come from. "I'd rather not stay here any longer than we have too. Let's get this thing open." He withdrew his phaser, then stepped back to a firing position.

Lockerman looked to his tricorder once more, verifying the readings he had obtained from the lock actuator. "I'd suggest a low yield setting, just above stun by a setting of two."

After Robolo had set his weapon he aimed and fired a short burst at the lock, which neatly melted into a pile on the floor. A moment later the door to the cargo compartment slid open with barley a whisper. Lockerman waved his tricorder at the open door, then read the reading aloud.

"Nothing overtly dangerous in there. No explosive devices that I can detect."

"So, no booby-traps?" Robolo asked with a smile. "Alright, let's go take a look."

As they stepped through the doorway Robolo and Lockerman immediately noticed they were on a gantry overlooking the main cargo hold three decks below them. The metal grating under their feet groaned with each of their steps, and made Robolo feel extremely uneasy.

"It's as black as pitch down there. I can't see a meter in front of my phaser." Lockerman had said.

Robolo noticed a flashing light on the gantry ahead of them. As the two officer approached he noticed that it was the emergency light switch.

"Well, here goes nothing." He pressed the switch. Immediately the entire hold was bathed in the soft white glow of the Klingon ships emergency lighting system.

Lockerman let out a long whistle as he looked down to the lower hold. "Sweet Sally O'Malley! Would you take a look at those!"

Robolo looked down at the sleek forms that were lined up neatly in the lower hold. They were three wide, from one side of the freighter to the other, and they were in rows of seven.

"Some sort of shuttlecraft?" Robolo asked to Lockerman, not taking his eyes off the craft below.

"Oh no. Not shuttlecraft at all. Look at those weapon hard-points…and the angled deflector grid. Look at the way the nose sweeps back and angles into the ventral pylons. Looks like they may even have aft disruptor banks."

"Well, if they are not shuttle craft then what the hell are they?" The Chief asked incredulously.

"Fighters. Interceptors. Gunboats. Landing Craft. You name it, it's probably down there."

"An invasion force." Robolo said dryly.

"I'd say so, Chief. And from the looks of it, I'd say they mean serious business."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Stardate: 4007.26

Office of the Commander, _Constitution_-Class design Bureau, Starbase One, Terra.

Commodore Robert April sat at his desk, looking at the computer terminal and reading the days reports from the front lines of the war effort. He had preprogrammed the message retrieval software on the computer to automatically flag messages with the words _Constitution_, _Potemkin_, _Hood_, _Enterprise_, and _Constellation_ as priority messages so they would be viewed first when the terminal was started.

Robert was glad to have had the foresight to do so. There seemed to be an endless stream of messages coming in from all forward deployed starships and starbases along the disputed areas. He would have had to wade through hundreds of seemingly meaningless communications about updates, supplies, crew causalities, and the like just to get to the information that he knew was so vital to the Federations efforts in this war.

He knew, deep in his heart and soul, that the _Constitution_-class heavy cruiser was the key to a total victory over the Klingons in the war. They were the mightiest, fastest, most sophisticated and powerful machines ever designed by man. The destruction they could delve out was only equaled by the sense of peace and security they could engender. They could chart untold numbers of planets, venture out into space almost indefinitely, and required half of the resources to maintain as a squadron of destroyers.

_Now... if only I can convince the Federation council to authorize me to build more. _

That request was far easier said than done. Along with the might of the Constitution—the namesake of the class—came the even heftier sum of credits required to build her. And, as each subsequent ship was built-_Constellation, Enterprise, Potemkin, Hood, _and the very nearly complete _Intrepid_-the expenses only rose greater and greater. Trying to squeeze more funds from the upper echelon was harder than trying to squeeze blood from a stone.

'_No, more like squeezing blood from a diamond.' _April has often mused.

Then there were the damage reports to go through. The Potemkin: damaged near Axanar. The Constitution: disabled near Lea. And with each report came the attached communications and memos that April loathed so much. The ones that said that 'the _Constitution_-class was too expensive to be on the front lines', or 'too sophisticated for their crew to handle', and/or 'too much power for their Captains to control and nurture.'

'_Rubbish! Pure, unadulterated rubbish!'_ April would balk at the computer message readouts.

At last report, the Enterprise was nearing the edge of Federation space on the top secret mission that April had placed Captain Pike on. But, that was at the last report—which was three weeks ago. For quite some time up to that point Robert had been receiving regular updates from Pike on the performance of the ship and its crew. Robert could tell almost immediately that Pike was brimming with pride about his new command. _Why shouldn't he be? The Enterprise is a fine ship, a credit to her name and heritage._ Then, far more abruptly than even Robert had expected, the communication from Captain Pike had stopped. _Had she run into foul play? Was Christopher alright? Was the ship damaged?_ Of course, Robert knew better that to play to his fears. He hadn't gotten to where he was by worrying about the 'what-if's' of the universe. If there was a way to get a communication though to him, he knew Christopher would figure it out. He had chosen his successor well and would trust in that decision to his dying day.

Captain Dodge, on the other hand, seemed to be having quite a bit of trouble with the _Hood_. Actually, from what Robert could glean from the message reports, Dodge himself seemed to be the one to blame for some of the _Hood_'s deficiencies. It seemed to Robert that Kenneth was a bit of a single minded chap. Once Dodge had learned to do something, he did it exactly the same over and over again to perfection. Unfortunately, with the design of the _Constitution_-class being far different from any other designs in Starfleet—mostly as technology was concerned—Dodge was having a hard time adapting to the new systems. Robert assumed it as growing pains, and that theory was rewarded by that fact that Dodge's frustrations with the Hood's systems seemed to be less frequent. In fact, a message that April was reading at this moment actually included _praise _for the ships design. True, it was only in the way the food replicators were programmed with a hundred more varieties of foodstuffs than on a normal vessel, but Robert took the complement anyway with a smile of satisfaction.

As he finished his morning messages he retrieved his coffee cup from the warming pad it had been placed on near the side of his computer terminal. He looked out the large view port, into the vast open spaces of the interior of Starbase One, and out to the hull of the _Intrepid_. The last of her outer skin was being applied today and the finishing touches to her warp pylons were scheduled for late next week. After that, it would be just about a month to finish her interior spaces…outfit her with the basic necessities required for a shakedown cruise…then it would be time. Robert would assume command of the _Intrepid_ during her shakedown cruise to ensure that each one of her systems operated exactly as designed. He preferred it that way. He knew these ships better than any single man or woman in the fleet.

He felt an enormous amount of pride to be in command of the design team, but something still tugged at his heart that he couldn't quite define. He wasn't sure if it was because of him time spent away from real space-service, or the fact that a great portion of this assignment had him landlocked behind a desk. He had promised himself more time to mediate on the subject-to root out the cause of the discomfort-once the _Intrepid_ was complete.

As the Commodore gazed wistfully at the _Intrepid_ his intercom buzzed.

"Yes, Lynn. What is it?" He said to his secretary with the customary softness of his British accent.

Lynn's voice was chipper and upbeat. At least, it always seemed that way to Robert. It was an absolute delight to work so closely with someone who was as passionate and agreeable with their work as Robert himself was. "Sir, Admiral Murdock is requesting a meeting with you at fifteen-hundred hours today. He says that it is quite urgent."

_What does the Commander of Starfleet want with me now?_ _I hope this isn't an emergency budget session or some other faff about. Well, at least if I'm in San Francisco already I could probably swing by the Academy and see how young Jimmy Kirk is doing. _"Yes-of course Lynn. Please tell the Admiral I will be there."

April looked to his desktop chronometer. It was ten minutes to two o'clock.

"Ah, just in time for low tea._"_He said to himself and smiled, rubbing his hands together and walking toward the shelf that contained his great-grandmothers vintage tea set.

"* * * * * *"

The shuttlecraft swung in a wide arc over the Presidio. Robert could feel the hum of her microfusion engines as she easily slipped over the waters of San Francisco bay that separated Starfleet Command Headquarters and Starfleet Academy. Through the forward view port Robert could see the Golden Gate Bridge in all her splendor, her red spires jutting into the soft blue skies above.

It had been too long since Robert had been to the Academy, he reminded himself. It was imperative, now more than ever, that he get to see it one more time. His meeting with the Chief of Starfleet had not gone at all like he had imagined, and right now Robert could use a friendly face to cheer him up.

April had taken the liberty of sending a formal communications to the head master of the Academy, informing him that the Commodore would be visiting one of the cadets. While it usually frowned upon to have acquaintances simply 'drop-in' on cadets during their studies, the commandant was an old friend of Robert's, so it only required the cashing in of a favor on the part of the commandant to make it happen.

Robert knew it was a trade worth more than gold at this point.

The shuttlecraft came about as it entered the air space directly over the Academy parade grounds. Robert looked out the side viewport and smiled as he saw, on one side of the field, a group of cadets marching in unison. They would march straight as an arrow for several dozen meters then, like a flock of birds, change course as a unit and begin to seamlessly march in another direction. It was a team building exercise that Robert approved up wholly.

On the other side of the field, opposite of the marching cadets, another group of midshipmen were busy playing a game of some sort that Robert couldn't make out in time as the shuttle sped passed them. It had something to do with a ball being thrown and the receiver running down the field with it, but its meaning escaped Robert at the moment. He had other more pressing matters on his mind.

The Commodore's craft came about and dropped quietly onto the shuttle landing pad near the east wing of the Cadet's barracks. As the doors slid open Robert stepped out of the craft and was immediately washed in the warmth of the sunlight. He looked to the sky, closing his eyes and feeling every sensation that the moment afforded him. _Somehow_, he thought to himself, _the air always smelled different here at the Academy_. _It was fresh…clean and untainted by time._

Commodore April opened his eyes and leveled them at the cadet barracks. As he walked towards the building, he took extra precaution to make the journey take as long as possible. Unfortunately, the total distance was only about thirty-meters, but Robert was determined to make those thirty-meters last for an eternity.

_Who knows when I'll be able to do this again…if ever?_

Robert stepped through the doors and was immediately hailed with a chorus of 'attention on deck!' as the cadets nearest the door instantly recognized the Commodore by his uniform. In unison every cadet in the hall who was within an earshot of the command immediately jumped from whatever they were doing and stood at the attention position, waiting for Robert to release them from their self induced paralysis.

"At ease, Cadets." Robert said as he smiled and held his hands up with his palms out, as if that would be enough to calm the cadets. "Who is the senior cadet present?" Robert asked, slapping his hands together and looking from one fresh face to another.

From somewhere behind him, Robert herd the shuffling of running feet. Then, there was a crash…followed by a skip in the beat of the footsteps until they regained their original speed.

"Commodore…sir. I'm the senior cadet present at the moment, sir..umm..Commodore."

Robert turned to face the young man. He was human, about six feet tall, and had the look of something Robert couldn't quite put his finger on.

"That's two 'Commodores' and two 'sirs' all in the same sentence. Impressive, if not entirely grammatically correct." April said to the young man, trying impossibly not to hide his smile.

The young cadet smiled broadly in return, and Robert could sense an air of cockiness about to erupt from the cadet.

"Well, sir. If you're going to do something right…might as well do it twice as well."

Robert let out a snort as he couldn't help but laugh at the cadet's brashness. "What's your name, son?"

"Cadet Mitchell, sir. Gary Mitchell."

Robert motioned with his hand for Mitchell to come within whisper distance of the Commodore.

"Well, Cadet Gary Mitchell, could you tell me where I could find Cadet James Kirk?"

If Gary's smile could get any wider than it already was, it did. "Oh…you're looking for Jimmy, sir?" Gary whispered back.

"Precisely, young man. Can you tell me, when was the last time you saw him?"

Gary looked from side to side…seeing that no one was listening. "Alone or…engaged?"

"Engaged….Oh. I see." Robert said, smiling to himself and remembering his first year at the Academy. "Alone, Mr. Mitchell."

"To be honest, sir…I don't remember him being one or the other for too long, if you know what I mean." Gary said, then stopped himself and remembered that he was speaking to a Commodore. The color drained from Mitchell's face as he coughed and stood back at attention.

April leaned back in and whispered. "It's alright, cadet. Quite…understandable. Do you think you can page him and have him meet me in the Academy Park in ten minutes?"

"Cadet Kirk and I are roommates…of a sort. I'm sure he's up in his room studying right now, Commodore." Gary said, hoping that it was a convincing explanation for April.

"Yes, yes. I'm sure he is." Robert returned and winked knowingly at Mitchell.

"* * * * * *"

Robert was just finished admiring the latest roses to come into bloom when he heard the unmistakable footsteps of a cadet in training approach him. He looked up and saw that the steps belonged to his old friend, young James Kirk. Robert stood as Kirk approached.

"Jimmy, my boy. How are you?" Robert asked, holding a hand out to Kirk

James took the Commodores hand and gave it a firm shake. "I'm well, sir. It's good to see you."

Robert beamed at Kirk with pride. "It's good to see you too, James. You look marvelous in the uniform, just as I knew you would."

Kirk smiled and looked to the flowers, then glanced back at April. "Yeah, well…you and Dad both made a pretty convincing argument to get me into it."

April pursed his lips as a look of seriousness crossed his face. "You still think about that mission, my boy?"

Kirk let his guard down as the same look of seriousness crossed his face. "All the time, sir."

After a moment of awkward silence, April decided to eject some joy back into this meeting. "Well, let's not talk about that past, shall we? Let's talk about the present…and the future."

They strode through the Academy's botanical garden as the talked. Actually, April did most of the listening as James went on and on about his first year at Starfleet academy. He talked about his close friends, like Gary Mitchell, and about his foes…one being a prankster named Finnegan. Robert was delighted that James was having the time of his life. James had done quite a bit of growing up in the last year. He was a budding sophomore with aspirations of graduating early and becoming a starship captain someday…and maybe even more.

"But enough about me, Robert. What about you?"

Robert smiled, not taking his gaze off of his feet as they walked. "Oh, there's not much to say really."

"You're being modest. I understand the _Intrepid_ is almost ready for her trial runs."

"Oh, you heard that." Robert said, dropping his voice.

"That's quite an accomplishment, sir. You set the bar with the _Constitution_ and it seems you keep raising it with each ship. I hear the engineers are scrambling to keep up with your ideas."

"Yes, well. Seems like they'll have a much easier time to catch up with them now."

Kirk was confused at the statement. "What do you mean?"

Robert sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You know, I came here to keep you in the loop, James. It wouldn't do for you not to be one of the first to hear…it just…wouldn't do."

"Wouldn't do? Do what? Know what?"

"The future, James. To know the future. The Constitution design team is being handed over to someone else."

Kirk almost fell over right there in the walkway. It felt just like the time Finnegan had been waiting around a corner to sucker punch Jim and had left him gasping for air.

"They…replaced you?"

"Replaced, my dear boy? You make it sound as if I'm a defective replicator that needs to be put out to pasture."

"Robert, that's not what I meant…and this isn't funny."

"Truthfully, I've been trying to find the humor in it myself…but I can't seem to come up with any."

"Did they give you a reason?"

"Do they need to?" Robert said softly, looking into Jim's eyes. No, they don't need to. Rank had its privileges. When the Admirals tells the Commodores to go…they go. No question asked or expected. James nodded in agreement.

"I've been giving the higher-ups a little too much flack lately. I'm sure that's part of it."

"Flack? For what?"

"They're being too soft on the Klingons, Jim."

"The war…" Kirk said as he dropped Roberts gaze.

"We're taking a beating on almost every front, my boy. Starfleet Command is taking it too lightly. If there is one thing I know, it's that any sign of weakness on our part is an open door invitation for the Klingons to pounce. They see it as a dishonorable trait. Thus, they pound us even harder to force us to capitulate."

James smiled at a thought that crossed his mind; the thought of Robert standing in front of the Federation council and telling them straight and to the point that Starfleet needed to kick the Klingons in their backsides…or the Klingons would do the same to the Federation.

"So, where is Starfleet sending you now?"

Robert stopped and smiled, then placed a hand on Kirks shoulder. "They are not sending me anywhere. I've decided not to let them, anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"In a way, you could call it a retirement."

"Retirement? But you have so many good years left to you. Starfleet needs you to…"

"Starfleet is done with me, James. The Federation, on the other hand, needs all the help it can get right now. They need good mediators and negotiators near the front lines of the war effort. That's where I'm going."

"In what capacity…if not with Starfleet."

"No, not with Starfleet. Not officially, anyways. The Federation council has asked me to become an ambassador of-sorts."

"Ambassador 'of-sorts'? Robert, either you are or you aren't one."

"I am one, James. I'm a roving representation of the Federations good will and peace towards all beings." Robert said, raising his hands in a mock gesture of peace.

Kirk let out a laugh. "Well, Starfleet is losing a hell of an officer, sir."

"Thanks you, James. It seems like it's getting a good one when I see how happy you are here. I always knew it'd be a perfect fit. The service, I mean."

"And who are they getting to replace you at R&D?" Jim asked, honestly curious.

"A captain by the name of Rittenhouse. Seems he was with Garth at Axanar."

"We were just studying that battle last week. I don't remember the name Rittenhouse, though."

"His ship was damaged and he had to be towed to Starbase. Lost his wife in the engagement. Apparently, he's been chomping at the bit to design some new offensive weapons for Starfleet Command."

"What do you think he'll do with the _Constitution_ design team?"

Robert knew what Jim was thinking. "I'm sure Vaughn has nothing but the best intentions with the team. I think he's dreams, however, are focused on a different platform…possibly a new hull design. We'll see."

Kirk dismissed the idea of anyone taking over for April. It was, after all, his baby. The _Constitution_-class would forever be linked to Robert April, regardless of whoever stepped in to stand on his shoulders. Jim raised a worried glance to Robert.

"Have you told dad yet?"

"James Kirk, I wanted you to be one the first people to know about my change of occupation. I didn't say you were _the_ first to know, however. George was first person I called. You were the second."

Kirk and April shared a smile, then continued on their walk through the lush garden.

"* * * * * *"

Stardate: 4007.30

FROM: Captain Keath Mason, Starfleet Intelligence, Starbase Twelve

TO: All Commanding Officers, Starfleet Command

VIA: Commodore John Perry, Commanding Officer, Starbase Twelve

SUBJ: VESSEL DISSAPEARANCES NEAR DISPUTED TERRIROTY

It has come to the attention of Starfleet Intelligence that and inordinate amount of vessels are disappearing at an alarming rate near the disputed area of the Federation – Klingon borders.

These disappearances cannot be accounted for during periods of hostility between the before mentioned governments.

It is quite possible that the disappearance of these vessels is due to actions by the Klingon empire. It is also quite reasonable to assume this is the work of Orion pirates.

Starfleet Intelligence is working diligently to gather as many fact on these cases as possible.

Field commanders and captains are advised to take all necessary precautions to safeguard the lives of their crews and the Federation property that they have been entrusted with.

Further information will follow.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Stardate: 4008.010

The _Anton_-class research cruiser USS _Hera _guided slowly from her orbit around Delta IV. She had just completed the last leg of her five-week mission to deposit the new Federation ambassador to the Deltan people's home world. The _Hera_ had taken the shortest route possible from Starbase Twenty, which was fourteen light-years away from Delta IV, but the journey had still taken over forty days at warp six. The captain of the _Hera_, Commander Michael Lowery, was eager to get his crew back home.

The Delta system itself was located in an isolated expanse of Federation space and was precariously close to the Romulan neutral zone established decades before. While the Federation had had no direct contact with the Romulans since the time of that great conflict, it still left even the most hardened of starship captains on edge when traveling this close to their space.

That war had been a long, bloody, and costly conflict for both sides. The Federation's resources were strained so thin that even the destruction of one of their vessels left the entire fleet in a critical position. It had taken every ounce of leverage from over a dozen diplomats and mediators on both sides to quell the conflict. Still, every starship captain traveling this close to the border was afforded every ounce of intelligence on the state of affairs within the Romulan Empire—at least, as much as was known by Starfleet Intelligence.

Both the Federation and the Romulans had set up a series of outpost along their respective sides of the neutral zone in order to monitor the movements of their former enemies fleets. Where the Federation could ill afford to place a station, the engineers at Starfleet Research and Development had come up with a series of sensor laden satellites to augment the outpost that they laid between. It was unknown of the Romulans had taken the same precautions, but it was assumed that they had.

As the _Hera_ reached the outermost fringes of the Delta system, Captain Lowery looked over the final list of readiness reports from the chief engineer. The ship appeared to be in perfect working order. Every supply that they had taken on at Delta IV had been catalogued and stowed, or made available to whichever department needed the particular supply. Lower was silently glad that the medical department was fully stocked for any contingency, should the need arise. Even the ships blood banks were full, thanks in full to the generous crewman onboard who regularly stood outside sickbay to give whatever donations they could.

Lower handed his stylus to the waiting yeoman when his science officer's voice sounded from his side.

"Captain, I have a sensor reading bearing mark two-point four."

"Origin, Mr. Carstons?"

"Scanning now, sir. It appears to be a relayed sensor report from our nearest automated satellite."

"Satellite? Which satellite are you referring to?"

"One of our automated drone detection satellites near the Romulan neutral zone."

Lowery was instantly on the alert. He felt his heart almost skip a beat._ Romulans_.

"Is it verified as accurate?" Lowery asked. There had been several false leads reported by the automated drones in the last few months. Starfleet command had noticed, upon performing diagnostics on the satellites, that they had been tampered with…probably by some ingenious Romulan technician trying to provoke a conflict.

"Scans verified as accurate, Captain. The signal corresponds to the coded frequency set up by Starfleet Intelligence two months ago."

"Download the sensor data and relay the information." Lowery said as he turned in his command chair to face Carstons.

The science officer huddled over his sensor matrix display, then sat quietly at his terminal as he punched in the correct sequence that would make the data available to the Captain.

"Information downloaded, sir. The computer has complied the report."

"On audio, Lieutenant Commander."

The computers unmistakable female voice came softly over the bridge speakers of the _Hera_ a moment later.

"Scan Complete. Detection Satellite DR Five-Six-One: reporting. Sensor contact with Romulan vessel in unclaimed space between Federation and Romulan territories. Sensor scan type: warp-trained spectral analysis. Vessel class is identified as _Graceful Flyer_. Exact Romulan classification of vessel: unknown. Vessel course: three-five-one mark seven-point-two."

Carstons flipped a switch on the science station's computer access terminal and shut the audio speakers off. "The message repeats itself at this point, Captain."

"Romulans…" Lowery said softly, turning his gaze to the forward view screen. "What is the intelligence report on that particular type of vessel, Commander?"

Carstons flipped a switch on his library computer and studied the readout. "Vessel class: _Graceful Flyer_. Crew complement, about one hundred and thirty personnel. Maximum speed…near warp seven. Light weapons armaments and shields. In brief, Captain, Intelligence is reporting this class as a courier, or possibly a scout-class vessel."

"But not a warship." Lowery responded, as much a question as it was a statement.

"Highly unlikely, sir. But really, do you think they would send such an overtly hostile vessel against us?"

"They would if they were looking for a fight." Lowery replied.

"And if they're not?" Carstons asked curiously.

"Then they could be spies, possibly on an intelligence gathering mission."

Carstons looked to the view screen, watching the stars stream by the Hera, and looking for answers that weren't there.

"If the Romulans decided to pick a fight, it would be a good time to do it." He began. "With most of our ships deployed near Klingon space, it would be just like the Romulans to attack our flank when we weren't prepared."

Lowery pondered this for a moment before speaking again. "What about the possibility that the Romulans would join us in our fight against the Klingon's?"

Carstons looked to his Captain thoughtfully. "At last report the Klingon's and the Romulans were on amicable terms with one another. If the reports by Starfleet Intelligence are correct, they may even have formed light trade agreements."

"Weapons trading?" The Captain asked, alarmed at the revelation presented to him by Carstons.

"Perhaps even in whole ships." Carstons added. "We just don't have enough facts at this point, sir."

"Well, let's get some then." Lowery said sternly. "Plot the course of the _Flyer_. Where is she heading?"

Carstons when back to work at the computer, entering in all of the available data and allowed the computer to correlate the information.

"Looks like she's heading towards the Triangle, sir. Warp six."

"That doesn't give us much time. It's been awhile since a Federation vessel has been this close to gather information on a Romulan vessel, wouldn't you say Mr. Carstons?"

"Agreed." Carstons said. "It's a unique moment, sir."

"Then let's take advantage of it. Helm, lay in a parallel course with the Romulan ship. Stay as far out of range as possible, however. I don't want them alerted to our intentions."

"Aye, sir. Plotting course." The helmsman rang in.

"Ahead warp-six."

"* * * * * *"

Stardate 4010.007

The _Larson_-class destroyer USS _Eylau_, NCC-4317, slowly drifted to starboard as she came about and headed for the Lyclydun system at half impulse power with her escorts following close behind. Captain Donald Fitzgerald had been ordered to separate from Task Force Ten and investigate the nearby planets in the Lyclydun system while the remainder of the group, which consisted of two _Anton_-class light cruisers and a _Locknar_-class frigate, remained on course for the void of space lying between Lyclydun and the Sinbad system.

Fitzgerald's two escorts, which consisted of a similar destroyer and an additional frigate, made their way across the half-parsec distance of space at a leisurely rate. However, they were not unalarmed to the events that had transpired in this area of space over the last several months. The Lee system itself was only an additional three-parsecs galactic south of their current location, and Klingon forces had been scanned as close as two parsecs from their present course.

The Task Force Two commander, Captain Bill Springer, was also well aware of the enemy forces in the area, but felt that Fitzgerald and his escorts could handle anything that should come their way. If not, Springer's cruisers were only a few minutes away at warp two.

The _Eylau's_ sensors confirmed what Fitzgerald had already known about this system before the ship had even entered extreme range of the farthest planet. The Lyclydun system contained four planets and a G-type main-sequence star, which was incredibly similar to the Terran star Sol in both size and temperature.

The furthest planet out, and the first encountered by Fitzgerald's squadron, was named Lyclyd Quas. It was a beautiful green gas giant of a planet, with a swirling turbulent atmosphere composed entirely of methane. After a cursory scan of the planet and its five small moons the _Eylau_ continued on its way at half impulse to the interior planets of the system.

The next planet Fitzgerald encountered was Lyclyd Tri, one of the two habitable planets in the system, the other being Lyclyd Un closer to the star. Lyclyd Tri was a small icy planet, classified as a Type-P. While the surface was habitable using special outfitted weather gear or heated domes, it was not looked upon as thoughtfully as Lyclyd Un when it came time to set up a Federation colony. The one thing that Lyclyd Tri had going for it was it's enormous diluthium deposits, which were buried several kilometers beneath its ice encrusted surface. The Federation was currently hard at work devising advanced mining operations that could get to the extremely rare mineral used exclusively in warp drive engines, but had yet to come up with a truly reliable method of extraction at this point.

"Helm," Fitzgerald began. "plot a course for Lyclyd Bi and engage at full impulse."

"Aye, sir."

"* * * * * *"

Captain Springer was leaning against the bulkhead of the chief engineers console on the bridge. He had just engaged the man in a debate about warp-time dilation physics when the communications officer's voice sounded on the bridge of the _Cowpens_.

"Captain, urgent communication from Captain Fitzgerald coming in on the Priority One channel. He says his group is under attack."

Springer leapt from the engineers' side and ran to the communication officer's terminal in the opposite side of the bridge.

"Put me through to him."

"Aye, sir." She said, tapping at the switches that engaged the two way communications channel.

"Springer here. Go ahead, Fitz."

There was a burst of static from the bridge's overhead speakers as Captain Fitzgerald's voice came to life through bursts of radio interference

"Repeat…we are under attack…came out from behind the moon at Lyclyd…four Klingon D-16 light cruise…frigate _Alondra_ destroyed…destroyer _Thebes_ heavily dam…we are…life support and main pow…send assistance immediately…"

The channel closed automatically. "That's it, sir. All communications have been jammed at the source."

Springer swiveled to face the helm station. "Navigator, plot a course to intercept the _Eylau _at her last reported position. Warp five." 

"* * * * * *"

As soon as the _Cowpens_ had entered the system she had immediately gone to red alert, raising her shields and arming all weapons. The battle zone was full of debris from the damaged and destroyed Federation starships, as well as the burning hulk of one of the Klingon light cruisers.

The _Cowpens _dropped to one-quarter impulse, sidestepping a large chunk of the remains of the Federation frigate _Alondra_. The saucer section of the frigate had taken sever direct hits, and where there was once a smooth surface to the upper hull, there was now bent and twisted hull plates at irregular angles in four different areas on its surface, as well as a large portion of the forward saucer that was completely missing. Both of the warp drive units had been severed from the secondary hull and had probably exploded, owning to the fact that they were nowhere in sight.

Springer could see the _Eylau _listing heavily to port and spinning irregularly out of the system_. _The _Thebes, _however_, _was gone. Springer's sensors didn't register the ship anywhere in the system. She had—more than likely-been completely obliterated.

Within seconds the _Cowpens_ began taking fire, her internals rattling the crew from their stations as the shields registered the impacts of the Klingon's disruptor beams.

Captain Springer managed to steady himself in his command chair, griping the armrests with all of his strength to do so. "Evasive pattern beta-two! Return fire!"

The _Cowpens_ suddenly dipped forward and lurched ahead at full impulse, narrowly avoiding the impact of several more disrupter blasts. At almost point blank range to one of the Klingon cruisers she opened fired with her forward phaser banks.

"One hit and one miss, sir." The weapons officer shouted.

"Their shields are at eighty-five percent, captain." The science officer reported.

"Power dropping rapidly!"

Springer swiveled his command chair to face the chief engineer. "Explanation." He ordered.

"The first hit we took disrupted the warp intermix chamber. Warp drive is off-line. We're operating on emergency reactors, sir."

"Weapons status?"

"Phasers at thirty-percent and dropping. We won't have them online much longer."

The Cowpens took another hit to her ventral shields, causing the ship to lunge down suddenly. Springer-unprepared for the jolt-came sprawling out of his chair and onto the cold command deck behind the helm console.

"Damage reports coming in from all over the ship!" The communications officer shouted.

"Structural integrity failing on decks four, five, six, and nine." Lieutenant Harbuk said, his face obscured by the blue light of the science stations scanner hood.

"Communications officer, Get me the _Repulse_."

The female Andorian at the communications station worked feverishly at her controls. "Unable to raise the _Repulse_, sir."

Springer moved in behind the communications officer, but kept his eyes on the forward view screen. "Are the channels being jammed?"

"No, sir. All I'm getting is static."

"Sir," Harbuk said. "it looks as if the _Repulse_ has been heavily damaged."

"Then get me the frigate. Hail the _Lactra_."

The communications officer's antennas were lying almost flat against her silvery white hair atop her scalp. The captain recognized this as a sign of the Andorian officer being under tremendous stress. She was too young…too inexperienced for something like this to happen to her and for her to be able to cope like a well trained Starfleet officer. After another moment at her controls Ensign Talbota signaled the captain with a nod of her head. "Channel open, sir. I have Captain Nalbandian wishing to establish visual contact."

Springer rested a hand on her shoulder and gave Talbota a weary smile. "On screen, Ensign."

The image of the damaged _Repulse_ on the view screen of the _Cowpens_ faded to be replaced by the bridge of the _Lactra_.

"Cowpens, this is the Lactra. Are you receiving?"

Donald Springer could see that the Lactra had sustained heavy damage from the looks of her bridge. Several terminals were arching and sparking, and there was a think haze of smoke surrounding the captain. Nalbandian's face was smeared with dried blood from a gash on his forehead. His tunic was stained from his neck to his chest in sweat and grime.

"Acknowledged, Captain Nalbandian. This is Springer."

"Fitz! You've got to get out of here! We've got to get out of here! These Klingon's mean business and they aren't taking 'no' for an answer. I've lost half my crew already. Sensors are showing the Klingon's are regrouping…coming in for a second wave of attacks!"

"We're swinging around right now, Captain. We'll be at your position in sixty-seconds."

"That's not enough time!" Nalbandian screamed. "They're almost on-top of us now!"

Springer beamed at his chief engineer, who returned his gaze with a look of deep regret. "Sorry, sir. There's no way. The fusion generators will blow if we nudge them anywhere near full impulse."

Springer looked to the Nalbandian with a look of resignation on his face. "Take evasive maneuvers, Captain. We'll be there shortly."

"Affirmative. Taking evasive…" The bridge of the _Lactra_ lit up with a blinding white light. Everyone on the bridge of the Cowpens, Springer included, had to shield their eyes with their hands. A few seconds later the light faded. Springer looked back to the view screen and saw an empty field of stars.

"Report, Mr. Harbuk."

"Sensors show the _Lactra_ took a direct hit to her bridge, Captain."

Springer's through dried up. "Survivors?" He asked with a rasp in his voice.

Harbuk put his face near his science scanner and adjusted the controls. "Hard to tell at this distance, sir. We'll be in range in thirty-seconds."

"And the Klingon's?"

"Two enemy vessels are still operating under their own power, sir. One is adrift; the other appears to have been destroyed."

Springer looked to the view screen and the stars that swung past the ship. _Is this it? Is this the last time I'll swim between the stars? What was the line from that old earth poem….'Rage. Rage against the dying of the light.'…what good would it do? Two Klingon cruisers at even half their normal power output are more than a match for a glorified research ship at full power…and we don't even have a quarter of that power available. _

_Think! Think, Don! Figure it out! Rage!_

"Do we still have transporters?" Springer yelled to anyone who was listening.

The chief engineer looked up from his console. "Yes, sir. They are the only part of the ship that still has full power…but I'll be damned if I know why."

"And we all may very well be if this doesn't work." Springer said, rubbing his hands on his pants to get rid of the increased sweat from his palms. _Rage! "_Helmsman, Plot a return course and put us on a collision bearing with the_ Eylau. _Prepare to engage the tractor beam_"_

"Collision bearing, sir."

"You heard the order, mister. And I mean now."

Half way to the _Lactra_ the _Anton_-class cruiser _Cowpens_ turned sharply on her course. At just that moment the two remaining Klingon D-16's sped into her wake and trailed her stern tightly.

"Time to impact with the _Eylau_?"

"Thirty-five seconds at present speed." The helms said somberly.

_Well, here goes._ "Take us to full impulse!" Springer said sternly. He looked to the chief engineer, who shot him a sharp look of disapproval. The captain simply nodded his head as if to say "we'll take this up later…if we survive."

"Time to impact now ten seconds."

Donald slammed the intercom switch on his armrest. He didn't even car that the entire ship could hear his next words; he just needed to make sure someone on deck five heard and obeyed.

"Transporter room, beam all the life signs off the _Eylau_ now! I don't care if it's a cat who stowed away in engineering. I want that ship devoid of life in five seconds. Used every pad, every transporter room if you have to."

"Aye, sir." Came the reply, although Springer didn't even bother to see which department or crewman had made it.

The helmsman counted down the seconds until impact. "Five…four…three…two…"

"Helm, take us above the _Eylau_ at fifty-meters. Once we are clear, engage the tractor beam and swing the _Eylau_ directly astern."

The _Cowpens_ lurched as she attempted to grab the listing destroyer while at full impulse. The ship felt like it was dragging itself to a halt under the strain of the impulse drive whine.

"The Eylau is directly astern, Captain." The helms man reported.

"The Klingons?"

"One-thousand kilometers and closing rapidly!" Harbuk shouted.

"Navigator, on my order I want you to come to a complete stop and release the _Eylau_ from the tractor beam."

"Aye, sir." The Helmsman said, seeing in his minds eye where the captain was going. If the _Cowpens_ stopped, then the _Eylau_ would also be forced into an abrupt stop. If she was directly astern of the _Cowpens_, and the Klingons were close enough, they would run right into her. Unfortunately, the _Eylau_ was only five-hundred meters away. This left a less than optimal room for an escape.

"Eight hundred meters, Captain!" Harbuk said.

_Rage! _"Emergency stop! Disengage tractor beam, then reengage the impulse drive!"

The _Cowpens_ fell to a complete stop in less than five seconds. Everyone on the bridge except for the Captain and the helmsman were thrown forward and out of their seats. Then the ship lurched forward, accelerating to half the speed of light in the same amount of time it had taken to stop. This sent the bridge crew realign backwards, this time dislodging the helmsman from his station.

There was a shudder…a deathly vibration coming though the hull. Then the reverberations slowed and all Springer could hear was the groan of the impulse drives…as if they were about to explode.

Harbuk was back at his station. "The Klingon vessels rammed into the _Eylau_, sir. They are both damaged, but intact."

Springer wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. "Are they perusing?"

"No, sir."

"Ensign Talbota, try and raise Starfleet Command. Relay our current status, as well as the status of their other vessels in the task force. Advise them we have lost control of the Lyclydun system…to the Klingon's. Request they send a warp-tug along our present heading"

Talbota looked to her captain, her normally bright blue skin having faded to a sickly pale hue of its former self. "Aye, sir. Transmitting now."

"Helm, lay in a course for Starbase Twenty-Three at half impulse." Springer said. The chief engineer looked at his captain disapprovingly, but resigned any comments on the situation to a later date. _This is gonna be a long trip until our tug gets here. _


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Stardate 4010.019

Colonel Ko'Ral sat on the bridge of the _Death Claw_ and pondered his next moves carefully. Since their overwhelming victory at Lea, the 127th Cruiser squadron had moved some fifteen light years and they now found themselves within striking distance of the planet Janni IV.

The population of the Janni system was about three-point-eight million humanoids that resided entirely on Janni IV. The first three planets in the system were entirely unworthy military targets. Two were gas giants while the third was a ball of rock and ice completely inhospitable to both Klingons and Humans. Janni IV—however—contained abundant animal and plant life that was native to the system. The Klingons cared little for the flora and fauna, except for the odd medicinal uses it may have. The animal life, Ko'Ral had found out, was entirely edible and would make for excellent feasts for his weary warriors.

There were fattened bovine-like animals that had three horns protruding from their foreheads, then there were the giant flightless birds that appeared to have scales instead of feathers. There were reptiles in the planets wetland areas, and predator feline animals in the rocky terrain of the equatorial mountains.

_Yes, this planet would provide food for a great many warriors in the fleet. Not just our own… but enough for several strike groups. All that was left to do was take care of the native civilization. _

The inhabitants of Janni IV were an interesting lot. They appeared to be a hybrid of Humans, Vulcans, and Katedians. While their general facial appearance was that of human, they had elongated pointed ears and eyebrows that were easily twice as pronounced as the standard Vulcan. Their skin was coated in a thin layer of fur over their entire bodies. It seemed that, like human hair, the fur could come in any number of colors and patterns. While some creatures were entirely monochromatic, others were mottled and-in some rare cases-striped.

Fur patterns seemed to have nothing to do with social status or affluence. The economy of the planet seemed to be based on valuable goods that were bartered or traded to one another. Another interesting fact that Ko'Ral had learned for his science officer was the fact that Janni IV had an extensive black market weapons trade. Weather this was done under the guise of Federation direction, or behind the Federations back, it mattered very little.

This is where Ko'Ral would infiltrate and take control of the planet. He just had to meet the right person at the right time and offer the right service. Ko'Ral's science team had studied the weapons platforms of the planet and had deemed them of sufficient strength to inflict moderate dame to the Klingon ships in orbit…if the inhabitant wished to do so. With the loss of their supply fleet at Xamdab, Ko'Ral could ill afford to have one of his ships put out of commission by a surface-to-space torpedo. _No, that would not do at all. This will have to be done with the cunning of the snake._

Ko'Ral and his military advisors had come up with a well rounded plan that would ensure the safest margin for his troops, while also managing to secure as much of the planets resources and weapons as possible, all the while keeping as much of the inhabitants alive and out of danger.

After all, what good would it do to conquer the planet and not be able to make use of all of its infinite resources? Better to subjugate the people into your Empire and use them as a glorified slave-labor force. Ko'Ral had only to find the seat of power for the planet and take it by force.

But first he needed allies. He need what humans called an 'inside man'.

Major Valshon Cradduck of the People's Army of the Western Continent was just such a person. He had been discovered during the initial scouting mission that Ko'Ral had ordered Wartok to accomplish once they entered standard orbit. Cradduck was an opportunist by heart and nature. He would exploit the weak and powerless to further his political gains, and had enough of the more wealthy inhabitants of Janni under his belt to ensure that his people would never suffer from hunger or homelessness, all the while touting the superiority of his forces over those of any other continent. Unfortunately, his aspirations were limited to only the continent in which he found himself and his people. He was also-and not by coincidence-the largest trader on the planets black market. Unfortunately, Cradduck's 'army' was ill equipped to make the long journey across the great ocean that separated his forces from the other major political party on the planet, the Unified Janni Society. This was to be the area that Ko'Ral would firmly wedge himself and his task force in to. After all, who needs sea transports when you have a fleet of Klingon ships willing to beam your army anywhere you needed to go…for a price.

Valshon Cradduck was truly a Romulan amongst other Janni, and Ko'Ral despised him for his lack of honor and courage, but Ko'Ral also never missed an opportunity to compliment the man or breathe the proverbial smoke up his hindquarters_. _In return for the assistance of the Klingons, Cradduck had offered Ko'Ral the resources of the entire planet…in so long as the Klingon forces dealt no death to the people and would not lay waste to the cites of the UJS—which had an enormous cache of valuables hidden in their vaults. Ko'Ral had agreed with a large smile of finely sharp teeth and the promise of power and freedom for Valshon's people. _'Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer', _as the ancient Klingon proverb stated. Yes, this Cradduck was just the idealistic stooge Ko'Ral was looking for.

In preparation for the attack on the UJS, Ko'Ral had returned to the _Death Claw_ and scheduled a meeting with the fellow commanding officers of the 127th group. He had also requested that the captains bring their first officers with them, as well. This was to be a large operation and therefore there must be delegation of areas of responsibility. The division of an entire planet into the hands of only four-hundred Klingons was a task not to be handled lightly…or by incompetents. As Colonel Ko'Ral entered the briefing room, Lieutenant Wartok was close at his commander's side.

"Colonel!" the officers in the room all shouted in unison.

Ko'Ral looked to each of their faces, noting with admiration the determination on each of their expressions. "Be seated." He said and began his briefing.

No less than a half an hour later the meeting was concluded. Ko'Ral was glad to see that each of his field commanders were already prepared for the coming engagement. There were fewer preparations to be made that he had anticipated and he was eager to get underway as soon as possible.

Cradduck had been contacted by Wartock and arrangements were made to beam his forces to several of the Klingon cruisers. One most of his officers had arrived they would be furnished with modified Klingon disruptors and given a light lesson in modern Klingon ground attack strategies. The weapons the Klingons disbursed were limited in power to only a few shots each, although Ko'Ral was extremely careful not to divulge this fact. Ko'Ral wanted to assure Cradduck's army that they would attain victory, but the Klingons also did not want full powered disruptors to simply fall into the hands of a race that they were soon to subjugate.

Within three hours, Valshon's army—nearly a thousand strong—were equipped with the modified weapons and were ready to beam back down to the planet's surface. Cradduck had provided Ko'Ral with the coordinates of the Unified Janni Society's primary headquarters, which Wartock and the _Death Claw_'sscience officer had confirmed. The plan called for a swift show of force on the part of the People's Army, which would take the fortress of the UJS within an estimated timeframe of about an hour. Ko'Ral had allowed for an additional hour, to make up for inconsistent intelligence reports from Valshon's lieutenants as to the exact number of UJS officer that might be present in the capital building at any given time.

It was estimated that the citadel surrounding the capital contained a further six to seven-hundred armed and trained personnel. Cradduck's forces would take care of the ground operations, while their new Klingon allies would wait in orbit to destroy any aircraft in the airspace over the citadel. If it became necessary for Ko'Ral to commit any of the Klingons to actual combat, it would only show a weakness on the side of Valshon's forces, and would simply mean that Ko'Ral would turn the entire population into a slave race for the Empire. As a precaution to this measure, Ko'Ral had two-hundred of his best marines put on stand-by alert aboard the _Death Claw_ and a further three-hundred on the _Bringer of Sorrow_.

Ko'Ral was on the bridge of the Death Claw. He had a three-dimensional projector table installed in the rear of the bridge so he could watch the battle in all its glory. The table would project a near perfect topographical rendition of the citadel, with the information constantly being updated by the finely tuned sensors on the _Death Claw_. He stood at the head of that table now, leaving Wartok in command of the ships operation while Ko'Ral himself would monitor the forces below at the holotable.

_The stage is set., all players to their parts, and so we let the game begin._

Ko'Ral reached for his personal communicator and touched its activator button.

"Major Cradduck, are your forces ready?"

Cradduck had been waiting with a contingent of his personal guards in transporter room four. He tapped at the Klingon communicator in his hand. "My men are ready, my Lord."

"Excellent. We will commence transporter operations now. Success, Major."

"And to you as well, Colonel." Valshon said, and then signed off the channel.

Ko'Ral gave Wartock the signal to begin the operation with the wave of his hand. Wartock nodded in acknowledgement and hit the intercom to the transporter room controller, which in turn would be repeated on all the ships in the 127th simultaneously. "All operators commence attack. Beam all forces to their designated areas immediately."

"* * * * * *"

Ko'Ral looked at the holotable with ever-growing fascination. It had been too long since he had witnessed first-hand the power of ground forces that were under his direct command. He realized now that he had longed for this moment, had thirsted for it for longer than he could remember. He watched the projection as it panned in to focus its detail on a particular group of Valshon's men outside the capital building, only for the screen to zoom out and focus its view on another group who were busy laying siege to one of the citadels outer walls.

The UJS capitol building had been shielded from attack, and thus was an inaccessible target for the Klingon transporters. Ko'Ral had made do with this fact, beaming three battalions of Cradduck's men right outside the buildings front door. Ko'Ral had provided them with a ramming probe that would lay waste to the shields protecting the building, but it came at a cost. The ram itself would take almost an hour to smash a hole large enough for Valshon's troops to enter the building.

Cradduck's forces were also engaged with taking down the citadels central communications network. Thankfully, the tower was far less guarded than the capitol building had been, so the securing of communications was expected any minute now. Ko'Ral had watched as Valshon's forces swept from street to street, shooting just about anyone and anything that got in their way. Thankfully they had yet to discover just how limited their weapons firepower would be. Ko'Ral speculated that—at this rate—Cradduck's weapons would be depleted just as the capitol buildings shields were breached.

So much the better.

Suddenly a large explosion lit up the holotable. Ko'Ral reeled back from the table as the holoprojection illuminated the entire bridge of the _Death Claw_ for a brief instant.

"Wartok! What has happened in grid fourteen-Alpha?"

Wartok moved to the science station and accessed the ships scanner read out. "It appears that Cradduck's forces have detonated the citadel's weapons arsenal."

"Does it appear to be a deliberate tactic on Valshon's part?"

Wartok stepped away from the computer and joined his commander at his side. "No, sir. It appears the building was sabotaged from within."

Ko'Ral grunted to himself, returning his gaze to the holotable. He could see a large crater that engulfed several city blocks. "This may work in our favor, Lieutenant. The less weapons that are accessible to Cradduck's forces, the better. My compliments to the UJS on this explosion." He laughed, which Wartock echoed.

The communications officer came from the opposite side of the bridge. "Colonel Ko'Ral, message from the surface. It's Cradduck."

"Put it on audio, Lieutenant."

A moment later the bridges speakers projected the sounds of the battle that was being raged on the surface of Janni. There were several explosions heard in the distance, as well as multiple disruptor blasts and people screaming. People dying.

"Lord Ko'Ral, this is Cradduck. The capitol building has been secured. Governor Katash is now a prisoner of the People's Army."

Ko'Ral laughed lightly to himself. "Correction, Major: he is a prisoner of the Klingon Empire. He is simply…in your custody."

There was a silence on the communications channel. Ko'Ral knew that Valshon was choosing his next words, but it had yet to be heard weather they would be wise ones or not.

"Yes, my Lord. He is _your_ prisoner." Cradduck said with more than a slight hint of disdain in his voice.

"Then my compliments to you and your forces, Major. You have done well and will be rewarded well."

"Thank you, Colonel."

"What is the status of your remaining forces?" Ko'Ral asked, paying little attention to the man's words.

"Our forces have had an overwhelming victory here, sir. The capitol is secure, the communications tower is secure, and the banking sector has been shut down. The UJS is making a tough stand at the power generation complex, but we should have them in custody within the next two-hours."

Ko'Ral licked his lips and sneered into the ships intercom. "We monitored a large explosion a few moments ago, Major. Is there anything you'd like to tell me…?" he let his words trail off. There was another long silence on Valshon's part.

"There was an accident in the weapons depot. My men had to destroy the building. We were afraid that the weapons would be used against you and your forces, Colonel Ko'Ral. We decided to destroy them instead of them falling into…the wrong hands."

Ko'Ral looked to Wartok, who wore a devilish smile on his face. "Of course you did, Major. You have again done well. Thank you for looking out for my men in this…endeavor."

"My Lord." Valshon said.

"Prepare to have the Governor beamed aboard the _Death Claw_ for interrogation. Contact me again when the power grid is secure. We will continue to monitor your progress from orbit."

"Interrogation? To what end, Colonel? He is the leader of his people and he is being detained. He has no secrets that I cannot get from him."

"Every man has his secrets, and from what I have seen the people of Janni have ineffectual means of extracting those secrets. Klingon methods are more precise and the facts they reveal are less _questionable_." Ko'Ral let the last word sink into Valshon's tiny brain.

"Forgive me, my Lord. I didn't mean to suggest…"

Ko'Ral cut into Cradduck's sentence. "Ignorance is easy to forgive, Major. Failure is not. Contact me in one hour..and I _expect_ you to report that the power station is under your control."

"It will be as you command, Colonel."

"Ko'Ral out." He said, and then motioned to his communications officer to close the channel.

"So, he says he destroyed the weapons depot?" Wartock asked in disgust. "It was not that way! Our scans definitely showed that the explosion was triggered remotely from within the Governor's office in the capitol building _before_ Valshon had taken his prisoner."

Ko'Ral placed a steady hand on Wartok's shoulder. "Worry not, my friend. I gave this Cradduck too much credit when I compared him to a Romulan. He thinks and acts more like those soft-bellied Humans. That makes dealing him all the more pleasurable." He finished and bared his teach in a menacing smile. Wartok understood the implications.

"Yes, my Lord. It does."

"Then we understand each other, Wartock. Once the power station is secure, I want you to beam down with our marines from the _Death Claw_ and the contingent from the _Bringer of Sorrow_. I want you to occupy the power station and the communications tower. Thos are the real seats of power for this citadel. We will reform this city into a base of operation for the fleet. The flag of the 127th will fly proudly from the capitol building as a sign to all who is in real control of this situation."

"And if we receive any resistance, my Lord?"

"Then you may deal with it any way you see fit, Commander."

"Commander?" Wartock asked curiously.

"I received your notification of promotion from the High Council this morning, but I was waiting until the right moment to disclose it to you. If you had in any way failed me during this battle…well…let us just say that you would be receiving this promotion posthumously."

Wartock understood the implications of this all too well. He would not fail his commander. "Kaplah!" He said, bringing his clenched fist to his chest.

"Kaplah, Commander Wartok. May you win all your battles." Ko'Ral said, returning the salute. "Now, follow your orders. The power station, and then the communications tower. Then, my friend, the planet is ours."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Stardate 4011.029

Office of the Commanding Officer, Starbase 12, Rigel Sector

Commodore John Perry paced back and forth in his office. He assistant and come in with another pot of fresh coffee, the third in the last hour. She had reminded the Commodore in rueful way that she might need to call the stations supply clerk for a replacement carpet if the Commodore persisted in his pacing. Perry, having barley noticed her presence, simply thanked her for the coffee and with a wave of his hand had sent her back to her desk just outside the walls of his office.

Perry assumed she simply did not understand the reason behind his nervousness. He could not fault her for it, really. Not many people understood the larger picture of the war effort as it was presently unfolding, so it was understood that even fewer people could understand the fine threads that wove those seemingly disconnected events into the picture that most people knew. Perry had not been at the forefront of that knowledge curve for some time. That was, until the events that recently transpired near the Laxala system unfolded barely a month prior.

In a situation where everything had come to be routine, the most noxious thorn rose up to throw the entire Federation into near shambles. At least, that is the news only the top brass at Star Fleet command—and now Perry—had come to know.

On or about Stardate 4010.20 a convoy of Orion merchant ships left the planet Laxala, bound for the Federation manufacturing facility in the Alphosa system some nine sectors away. The ships were carrying foodstuffs, textiles, liquid water, and liquid refrigerant tanks in small quantities. The largest supply they were ferrying, however, was one of the most vital and sought after commodities in the known universe: Partially refined dilithium crystals, the main component in faster-than-light warp drive engines.

In addition, it was just these crystals that the Federation needed badly. The Klingons had caught the Federation in a perilous state, and whether the Klingons were aware of that fact or not it was irrelevant. The Federation simply did not have enough warp capable ships to fight off the Klingons during a protracted war. The situation existed and would continue to exist until the Federation could get more starships out of their shipyards and onto the front lines where they were sorely needed.

Oh, there were ships of course. There were dozens upon dozens in all different configurations; Cruisers, Destroyers, Scouts, Battle cruisers…they were all represented in the half dozen shipyards that Star Fleet had poised within striking distance of the Klingon menace. In addition, these ships were useless. They could travel sub-light, but that would mean months of travel to simply get them to the front lines. And, once there, they would be almost useless. The dilithium that fed their engines also fed their mighty weapons and computer control systems, not to mention all the power generation for things as complex as life support and gravity control to something as simple as boiling a pot of water.

The Federation needed the dilithium provided by the miners in the Rigel colonies and the colonies were under direct control of the Orion cartels. The Federation knew it. They had always known it. Star Fleet had been all but ordered to turn a blind eye to the Orion syndicates. It was, after all, the Orion's who made their mighty ships move and fight. Why would the Federation risk all of that just to stem a few pirates or the occasional smuggling operation in an otherwise backwater portion of Federation space? Until Star Fleet could return to its previous role of exploration and find a suitable planet for its own dilithium mining, the Orion's were far more of an asset than a liability.

When it came to the Orion culture, government itself was the least desirable way to manage your people. For an Orion, it was all about the money. This is not to say that they are mercenaries. Quite the opposite, really. It is just that Orion opportunism is legendary. If there is a profit to be made, an Orion will find it no matter how unorthodox or strange the means. Their taste for luxury, it was said, was so unfettered that it embarrasses less self-conscious races. They simply live as well as their means allowed the, This also meant that by pooling the resources of several strong families together, by marriage for example, one large family can—and has—come to rule over an entire planet.

Their government, if one could call it that, was responsible for only the most mundane tasks that any self respecting Orion would never find himself doing, or for that matter be caught by any other self-respecting Orion in the course of such duties. Such jobs were, by default, designed for slaves. Only other Orion's—the poorer 'greens'- were slaves, and as far as anyone in the Federation knew those slaves were only traded within the boundaries of Orion space to other wealthy and powerful 'Ruddy' Orion traders. Nevertheless, Star Fleet was quick to enforce human rights violations everywhere in Federation space, as well as within an 'undetermined' distance from the Orion home world of Rigel VIII. Arrests were infrequent. Charges were filed even less frequently. In the last few eight months there had been a total of two citations fined for offenses that—before the war with the Klingons—would have warranted immediate arrest and detention of the Orion crews and the impounding of their vessels. The Federation was simply that desperate for dilithium.

Then there was the 'Laxala Incident'…

'_Incident_', Perry had thought to himself as he continued his pacing. '_It's a damn catastrophe, that's what it is_.' After the Orion crew had departed their borders they entered what can easily be termed Federation space. Being that Star Base 12 itself was only eighteen light-years distant, it was common practice to have a scouting vessel near that system at the time the incident took place.

Perry replayed the timeline of events repeatedly in his mind. It always came back to the same thing. _Could I have done anything differently? Did I have the time to? _The answer always came back the same on both questions. No.  
>The <em>Mission<em>-class scouting vessel, U.S.S. _Hawking_, registry number NCC-16621 had picked up a Klingon destroyer squadron on long-range sensors. The Klingons were heading into the Videtu system at high speed and from the _Hawking's_ report they did not stop in Videtu as they continued toward Laxala some three light-years distant.

Commodore John Perry had ordered the captain of the _Hawking_ to take up a position near Laxala to confirm the exact number of Klingon vessels in the area, then transmit that information back to Starbase 12 as soon as possible.

An hour after its initial contact with the Klingons the _Hawking_ was just outside of the Laxala system when they registered a large explosion on their scanners. The captain then ordered the Hawking to close within visual range of the scans. What he reported back, and what Perry had watched a dozen times over on the video display terminal in his office, was exactly the reason for his pacing.

As the _Hawking_ entered visual range it scanned one Orion ship approaching one of the two Klingon destroyers within scanner range. As the cargo ship neared the Klingon destroyer the Klingon lowered his shields. The reason for this was still a mystery, but the next motive seemed very clear. Within seconds of the Klingon lowering his shields the Orion vessel exploded in a brilliant ball of white flame and shrapnel. The blast wave destroyed the nearby Klingon vessel and severely damaged the remaining one.

The _Hawking_ made a dash into the Laxala system. Upon the discovery that the remaining Klingon vessel was of no threat, the remaining Orion vessels turned one-hundred and eighty degrees and set a course back to Orion space. The Captain of the _Hawking_ had opened a communications channel to the remaining vessels in the Orion flotilla and his official transcript of the conversation he had held with the Orion's was sitting on Perry's desk in a hard paper copy. There was only one line that Commodore Perry had committed to memory: "All future deliveries of dilithium are on hold until this situation is resolved." That was four weeks ago. Four weeks without a single delivery of the badly needed dilithium.

_What do they mean by 'situation'? Are they talking about the war?_

Perry knew his answer would come soon. The Orion syndicate had advised Star Fleet command to expect a reply to the Laxala Incident—as it was being called—at precisely thirteen-hundred hours today…five minutes from now.

Perry sat back in his desk and turned on the communications terminal. It showed the stylized emblem of the United Federation of Planets, with the seal of the President of the Federation directly next to it. There was a counter on the bottom of the screen counting down the minutes until the video would switch over to a live feed at Star Fleet Command. Due to his position as commanding officer of the star base closest to the Orion sector of space Commodore John Perry had finally made it on the 'list' of people who were in the know about the backdrop of the war, and it made him feel sick to his stomach.

_Ignorance is bliss…or rather, it used to be._

The doors to the Commodores office slid open with a swooshing sound and Captain Keath Mason of Star Fleet Intelligence walked briskly into the room.

"Have a seat, Captain." Perry said, motioning the Captain to sit beside the Commodore.

Perry's computer terminal chimed, indicating that a transmission was about to be received. Perry sat his cup of hot coffee down on the desk in anticipation of the message that was about to be delivered. The UFP insignias on the screen when blank and an image faded into view of that of the office of the President of the United Federation of Planets, Alohk Ixan. The President stared unblinking at the camera that was present in his office as he began to speak.

"This message is classified as Top Secret. The information provided here is not to be discussed outside of your respective chain of command without prior authorization of the Office of the President of the United Federation of Planets and the Office of the Chief of Operations at Star Fleet Command. We are now switching to a live video teletransmission from the Orion home world, Rigel sector."

The image again faded, replaced by that of a ruddy Orion sitting behind an opulently decorated golden desk, his large hands folded together on top of its glossy surface. Behind the Orion was a curtain of shimmering purple material onto which the symbol of the Botchek Planetary Congress, the wealthiest and most influential family in the Orion syndicates, was emblazoned. He voice was a low and steady as he began to speak.

"I am Markan the Wise, Chief Rhadamanen of the Botchek Planetary Congress, and tahedri of the family Quntoos."

Perry knew the Orion terms well. Rhadamanen was the title given to the executive officers of an Orion corporation, while the title tahedri meant that he was the eldest male member of his family and, thus, its patriarch. The Orion continued speaking as Perry and Mason exchanged a worried glance.

"On stardate 4010.20 an Orion merchant fleet was delivering supplies to the Federation processing facility on the planet Alphosa. This convoy was intercepted by a squadron of Klingon warships. The income from this cargo was to be extensive. Rather than allow his merchandise, and thus the livelihood of his corporation, to be stolen by the Klingon forces, the captain of the freighter Swiftends self-destructed his vessel. The resulting explosion destroyed one Klingon vessel and severely damaged the other. The Orion people make no apologies for this action. Quite the opposite. The captain of that vessel is now highly honored in the memories of his family, in those of his employer, and certainly in those of his people. From this point on, you should consider this when any force of the Klingon Empire, the United Federation of Planets, or their respective allies attempt to subvert our operations.

Therefore, any future harassment of the Orion people in the business of transporting Dilithium will be considered a sacrilegious attack on our way of life. It is not to be captured, diverted, or destroyed until after reaching its declared destination. To this end, the dilithum mining complex on Rigel XII has been outfitted with enough antimatter to completely obliterate the entire planet, which we fully intend to carry out if any future shipments are tampered by anyone, anywhere. Both races need Dilithium crystals sorely, and we are not unaware of that fact. All shipments of dilithium to both the Klingon Empire and the United Federation of Planets will resume immediately. However, be warned: Consider the full weight of this message during your war. We will not tolerate any further hostilities toward our people.

This transmission ends."

The screen on the terminal went black. Perry had half expected to see the President return to address his respective audience, but he did not. Perry and Mason both knew the President was reviewing the information with the other high-ranking officers that were undoubtedly in the room with him.

After a long pause, Captain Mason was the first to speak. "Well, at least our shipments will resume. That's one bit of good news."

"Yes," Commodore Perry countered. "But so are the shipments to the Klingon's. I was hoping the Orion's would use this incident to fully ally themselves with the Federation."

Mason shook his head. "No, that wouldn't be the 'Orion way' of doing things."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it just that Orion's are driven by one thing, and one thing only: The all mighty dollar, or emerald, or gold, or whatever precious commodity you can think of." Mason said as he waved his hand dismissively in the air. "They see no profit in sticking with one side or the other. Really, there is more profit in selling the dilithium to both sides, rather than just one. In fact, I'd fully expect the Federation to see a drastic increase in the final bills we receive from the Orion syndicate."

Perry thought on this for a moment and then let out an exhaustive sigh. "You're probably right, but it still rubs me the wrong way."

"This whole war is rubbing everyone the wrong way."

Perry took this moment, one of the rare ones of late-to be in the same room with she lead intelligence officer of this sector—to try and glean some new information from the Captain.

"Any news on the advanced weapons development?"

Mason poured himself a cup of coffee. "Some, but not much. This new phased weaponry requires an enormous amount of energy and, until now, our reserves of dilithium were being used entirely by the front line vessels fighting the war. There simply has not been enough reserves to get the materials into the lab to use in experiments."

"And what about now?"

Mason stroked his hand through his thick beard. "Well, even with the crystals we still need a viable computer control design, not to mention new targeting sensors. It's all so damn theoretical at this point, John. I've read the reports over and over again until I felt as if I was going to go blind from staring at them so much. I just can't see any of these new systems coming online in less than twelve months."

"Well, let's just hope you're wrong. The Klingon's have a decisive advantage over us in the sheer number of ships at their disposal. Until we can get more units to the front lines, we just plain outnumbered. And Keath, I don't care for thought of spending a few months in a Klingon prison gulag to then be tortured and executed shortly thereafter."

Captain Mason looked at the Commodore, but not with surprise or fear. His expression was that of sorrowful approval. "Do you really think it will come to that?"

Commodore John Perry got up from his desk to glare out of the large viewport that looked into the vastness of space. "I don't know." He said exasperated. "I just…don't know."

"*****"

Message Classification: TOP SECRET

From: Commodore Kory Woodrolf, Commanding Officer, Star Fleet Intelligence, Sol Sector, Earth.

To: Benjamin Pulwer, Commanding Officer, USS Baton Rouge (NCC-1570) only.

Subject: CONSTRUCTION PROJECT: THRANSTOR

Enclosure(s): Blueprints. Classification: TOP SECRET

Captain Pulwer, Star Fleet Intelligence is aware of your orders by sector command to ferry equipment and supplies necessary for the construction of shipyards near the Thranstor system. Intelligence is also aware of the difficulties of such an endeavor.

Enclosed in this correspondence are the classified designs for a new class of star ship, one that Star Fleet Intelligence feels will be of vital use to the Federation in our ongoing war effort against the Klingons.

Star Fleet Intelligence feels that Thranstor, both isolated from nearby Federation words and far from the front lines of the war, will be an ideal place for the construction of these highly classified vessels.

Construction on these ships is to begin immediately, once the shipyard is certified as fully functional.

Should you require any additional recourses not covered through otherwise required chains of requisition, all correspondence should be forward directly to this office for immediate review and/or approval.

Star Fleet Intelligence cannot stress the severity of the classification of this project. Should any member of your team cause you the slightest amount of hesitation in the course of his or her duties, you are to immediately requisition to this office for a replacement officer of equal or great proficiency.

We are dispatching three (3) additional cargo ships from Starbase 14 that will rendezvous with you when you arrive at Thranstor. They are carrying classified equipment and building materials to help expedite the process of constructing the shipyards that have been previously ordered.

Due to the unusual nature of this request, Star Fleet Intelligence has placed this project under our own strict supervision. It should be understood that civilian contractors or firms will not be involved in this project.

God speed to you, Captain. I look forward to reading your progress reports after you have begun construction.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Stardate 4011.014

The only thing her remembered about that morning was that it was dark. The sun had yet to break the plane of the distant horizon and already he and the rest of the 7th Marine Expeditionary Force were being called to awaken by the sound of reveille being piped through the barracks speakers. He looked to his desktop chronometer in dismay. It was 0500 in the morning. Captain Leland Grant instantly regretted staying up the night before to squeeze in one last poker game with the rest of the battalion commanders. He grunted in disgust as he buried his face in his pillow, then reached up with unseeing eyes to flick on the light beside his bunk.

Grant had been transferred, at his own request, to the Starfleet Marines as part of an officer exchange program that had been set up some months before. His request had been quickly sent up through the chain of command and was-in no small way- expedited by Captain Garth, his former commanding officer onboard the Xenophon. Grant had the first hand experience with the Klingon's that the Starfleet Marine Corps sought when training it's new officers, and once Grants transfer had been approved he was rushed to the frontlines to form up with the 7th Marine Expeditionary Unit on Nozseca VIII, or the 'Lucky 7th' as they called themselves.

His rank and status had remained the same while only his title had changed. Where once he was a Lieutenant aboard the Xenophon in the security department, Grant now found himself a Captain and in command of two-hundred personnel of the light reconnaissance unit of the Ground Combat Element, or GCE, of the 7th. It had taken Grant some time to learn the nomenclature of how the Marines organized their people and equipment, being that it was so vastly different than how Starfleet itself was organized. One he had become properly acclimated—however-he began to see how disorganized Starfleet's organization itself could be at times. In short, Leland Grant had found his niche and was ultimately happy to be where he was.

The morning routine had been the same for the last two months. Arise at 0500, eat breakfast with the other officers, and then arrive for officer's call at 0700 where the Colonel would detail the plan of the day for the rest of the Lucky 7th's officers. It would then be up to those officers to, in turn, divide out the various responsibilities to their respective company's. Today, however, was going to be slightly different. Where Grant would normally see Colonel Thomas sitting during the morning briefing there sat the base commander, the blue skinned and extremely stout Andorian, General Shruth. The equally impressive Thomas was seated at the General's right.

Colonel Thomas rose from his seat to greet his subordinates. "Come in and be seated quickly, people. We have a lot of material to go over this morning."

The officers acknowledged the statement for what it was: an order and not a request. They silently obeyed and were quickly gathered in their chairs around the circular briefing room table. General Shruth rose from his chair without introduction from the Colonel. Not that he needed such formality on such a small base. There were only about three-thousand marines total in the camp, of which the 7th was the largest unit. In fact, the camp itself really didn't require an officer of Shruth rank at all, except for the fact that Nozseca VIII was so unnervingly close to the Klingon expansion in this sector. It was this singular fact that necessitated the presence of a flag officer at the camp at all times.

Andorians themselves are, by nature, a warrior race. As a species they had a genetic disposition as a violent race. One that nature had been properly channeled they made brilliant strategist and tacticians. These traits gave rise to their starship designs being legendary for their offensive and defensive capabilities. As officers of the line they excelled as leaders, most notably during hostile engagements.

Shruth's reputation held that he was by no means an exception to these rules. As he stood up slowly from his chair the two antenna that protruded from the close crop of hair on his scalp began to twitch, sending vital sensors information to his brain—much like that of a Terran bat.

"I received a Priority-One sub-space message from Fleet Marine General Groetz late last night. Long range sensors from a Federation starship in the sector have detected a large Klingon invasion force heading towards this system." He let the words sink in, allowing a brief moment for everyone around the table to exchange worried glances to one another before he continued. He motioned towards the large computer screen that was behind him.

"Computer, display information file Zed One-Eight-Five: tactical information on the Nozseca system."

The screen image faded into life, showing the eleven planets of the Nozseca system and their regular orbits around the primary yellow star of the system. A group of bright red dots flashed in the top left corner of the screen, on the far end of the orbit of the eleventh planet. Shruth withdrew a long metal rod from beneath the screen and motioned to the blips.

"This is the estimated location of the Klingon's. It was obtained at approximately 0200 hours by the _Portsmith_-class light destroyer _Aloha_."

The _Aloha_, as well as a mixed group of other light and heavy destroyers and the Marine's own assault ship—the _Boxer_, were stationed permanently in the Nozseca system to provide space-born cover for the Marines stationed planeside. It was hoped that the presence of the destroyer squadron would be a deterrent for the Klingon's to enter the system, and it now appeared that the tactic was not working. The small red blips on the screen inched ever so closer to the orbit of the eleventh planet, intersected with it, and then were barely on the other side before the General began speaking again.

"The Klingon group is comprised of mostly heavy landing ships, defended by a squadron of cruisers and an additional squadron of light destroyers." The General pushed a blinking blue button on the right side of the screen and the image zoomed into a close range scan of the Klingon vessels, showing a detailed schematic of the different Klingon warships. One was the D-7 _Bringer of Destruction_-class Heavy cruiser, another was the D-16 _Swiftwind_-class destroyer, and below the two was the large T-2 _Mover_-class assault ship at a full fifty meters longer than the destroyers that protected it.

"We are estimating their total strength is in excess of six-thousand warriors, with about five-thousand of those committed to actual ground combat operations." He again let the words sink in as his antenna scanned the Marine officers seemingly one at a time. "The _Mover_'s can transport down their full compliment of eight-hundred troops, support vehicles, and heavy tanks in about seven minutes. I don't need to tell you people how vastly outnumbered that makes us down here. I'm counting on each of you to give two-hundred percent, because that's what it'll take to _almost_ even the odds."

_Outnumbered is an understatement_, Leland thought to himself. The 7th had its own share of heavy antigravity tanks as well, but the Federation AGVT-10's were few in number. Grant could think of no more than twenty of them were fully operational at the moment. That put the Klingon heavy cavalry numbers at something like ten-to-one odds over the defending Fleet Marine forces, and that was before Leland calculated the odds of the ground combat units. He decided that doing so would only worsen his mood.

"It is very likely that none of us will survive the encounter." The General said. "The Klingon's aren't known for taking prisoners and I, for one, don't relish the idea of it anyways. However, should any of you be captured, Colonel Thomas and I have decided a little 'disinformation' dissemination would be in order. Each of you officers will be supplied with falsified command documents and manipulated ranks."

With that Colonel Thomas stepped up from his chair, handing each of the fifteen officers present a computer cartridge. "You will find all of your disinformation on these cartridges. Study it well. It may save your life or the life of someone you may or may not know. Our hope is that it will throw the Klingon's in this sector for a loop and help to disguise Star Fleets true plans for the war." Thomas added, then returned to his seat at the General's side.

Shruth sat forward in his chair, hands folded in front of himself in calm composer. _This guy is a rock, _Grant thought in wonder. "We need everything tight at as a drum, people. I want full weapons inventory on my desk in fifteen minutes. All transport shuttles and assault fighters are to be placed on a five-minute readiness alert within the next thirty-minutes. Stow every conceivable combustible in approved containers, move all construction equipment indoors, and reinforce as much of the structure of the buildings as you can. Lieutenant Grant, we need a recon patrol assembled in the hangar as soon as possible."

Leland sat back in his chair; cool as a cucumber on the outside, but shaking like a leaf on the inside. "Aye, General. I'll have a team there in ten minutes."

"Excellent. Let's get going people. We don't have much time."

"* * * * *"

Ten minutes later, on-time and as promised, Grant had a security detail waiting in the shuttle hanger. The building was an immense concrete and plasti-steel rectangular structure with large bay doors on either end. Inside the hanger there was a bustle of activity. Lang had to station his detail on the far end in order to stay clear of the Marines that were currently readying the assault shuttles.

The shuttles themselves looked almost no different than the standard Star Fleet ones stationed aboard ship. They had long, flat sides of gray steel. The front end was angled out slightly and inset with three transparent aluminum viewports that could be shielded from the inside. The rear end was entirely dedicated to a ramp that could be lowered in seconds. Unlike the standard Star Fleet shuttles, however, the assault shuttles carried no micro-warp engines, thus they were incapable of leaving the planets atmosphere. Their primary drive was a set of thrusters on the port and starboard side that pushed the shuttle as it hovered about two feet from the surface. They were also twice as long as the standard shuttle and almost twice as wide. These modifications allowed the Marines to load a full compliment of troop in the shuttles, as well as any pieces of various equipment—or small vehicles-they might need for a particular mission. The 7th had four of such shuttles, as well as three specially modified ones that the Marines themselves had outfitted for their own purpose. This included, in two of the modified assault craft, cutting rectangular holes in each side of the shuttle just ahead of the thrusters to allow Marines—armed with phaser rifles-to defend the shuttles from incoming ground attacks.

Grant surveyed his squad with admiration. To his right was his senior enlisted officer, Sergeant Kipling. Kipling acted as a go-between for the officers and the enlisted personnel of the unit. He had served in the Corps for almost twelve years and was as good as any officer out in the field. His presence and his demeanor demanded respect and it was given to him freely by all those who served under him.

In formation, facing Grant and Kipling, was his hand picked reconnaissance unit. There was Williams, the best sniper in the whole 7th. Next to him was Lance Corporal Kalfor, the large and imposing Andorian manning the rapid fire phaser rifle, and Zinsak the Catedian, whose martial arts skill were unequaled. Behind them stood Tech Sergeant Brians, the squad's communications officer, and Parsons, computer specialist and sensor operator. Next to Parsons was the Tellerite, Private Throm, heavy weapons specialist manning the antimatter grenade launcher. Directly behind them stood a group of three security officers who would provide additional cover, if the need arose.

Each of the Marines were outfitted in the same fashion. They had their standard issued phaser sidearm holstered to their sides, their uniforms all the same matching drab brown and green camouflage. Their faces had been painted in various patters of the same manner of camouflage to better blend the visible portions of their bodies in with the natural environment of Nozseca VIII's lush vegetation near the camp. After a cursory inspection, verifying that each member of the squad was properly outfitted, Lieutenant Grant addressed the small assembly.

"Good morning. By now you all know that the Klingon forces are quickly approaching this planet. We've been ordered to recon out about three kilometers from the camp near the western perimeter. Command has decided that this is the most likely spot for the Klingon assault forces to form a beachhead. We'll be taking two shuttles out with us, one for transport and the other for cover. Are call sign for this mission is Weasel and our aerial cover will be known as Eagle Eye. Should we encounter any enemy forces entering the area we are instructed to observe and not to engage them unless we are first fired upon. General Shruth needs all the information we can gather on the troop strength of the enemy forces. We need to be light on our feet, people. There is a strong possibility that we will need an immediate evac of the ridge, so keep your communicators open on coded frequency beta-six. Any questions?"

As Grant had expected, there were none. Each of his troops was well trained and each trusted Grant's leaderships and decisions with their lives.

"Alright. Prepare for dust-off in five minutes. Get your geared stowed and strap yourselves in tight."

Fifteen minutes later the shuttles were streaming across the green valley just outside the camp. As the assault shuttles streamed a few feet above the green grass the blades were gently pushed aside by the low proximity of the thrusters on the shuttles rear quarters. Grant, in the lead shuttle and sitting in the co-pilots seat, gazed out the forward view port at their surroundings. On the port and starboard sides of the shuttles, some two kilometers distant, were lush green forests full of the tallest trees Grant had ever seen. They resembled Terran pines, but the colors were off. Where the pine tree had thick brown trunks and long green needle like leaves, these trees had trunks of dark orange and bright yellow needles. The smallest one of them couldn't have been less than forty-meters tall. At first glance Leland was amazed by their height and contrasting beauty to the green field the shuttles were in. At a second glace he thought that they would make excellent cover for any ground forces that found themselves among them, be they Federation or Klingon. _Best to stay clear of those…if we can_, he thought to himself. In front of the shuttles the great western ridge loomed up from the gently sloping field. The mountains were almost small enough to be classified as hills, but they would still provide an excellent field of vision into the valley that lay on the other side of them. The same valley where the Klingon forces were expected to land and make their initial push towards the Marines camp.

The shuttles came up to the slope of the rise and began to ascend rapidly. Grant could immediately feel the pressure difference as the shuttles gained altitude. He felt his ears pop, then heard similar grunting from the rest of the squad seated in the rear of the shuttle. A small green light on Grant's status board began to flash in rapid sequence, telling the Lieutenant that the Marines were about to arrive at their destination. Grant flipped the switch, which caused a red light to flash in the hold area of the shuttle and thus alert the rest of the Marines that the shuttle was about to set down. It was an indication from them to unbuckle their safety harnesses and give their respective equipment a final inspection before the exited the shuttle. Once they were out the shuttle would take off and land in a nearby crevice that would afford it the maximum amount of protection, should the Marines be spotted from high altitude fighters or from orbiting star ships.

The Shuttle landed with a soft thud and the rear ramp immediately lowered. The marines filed out in pairs, each one taking up a predefined position outside the shuttle. This was the practiced drill, to secure the landing site before proceeding with the mission. Once the team had completely evacuated the shuttle the rear hatch rose quickly and the craft lifted gently off the surface, hovering over the rock terrain of its mountain landing spot and then moved off to its cover position.

Grant flipped open his communicator. "Eagle Eye, copy?"

"Eagle Eye copies, Weasel."

"Anything on sensors?"

"Negative, sir. Weasel is clean."

"Affirmative. Maintain surveillance. Keep your scanners tight and all comm. Channels open. We may pick up a stray Klingon transmission if we're lucky."

"Eagle Eye copies. Out" The shuttle pilot affirmed as he signed off the channel.

Grant turned to his squad. They each looked to him, waiting for the next order. They looked like a group of tigers waiting to pounce on a helpless gazelle. This is what the years and months of training had led up to, and Grant was pleased to have these fine Marines with him.

"Squad, take up assigned positions. Check in time is 1005 hours, mark."

Each of the Marines checked their wrist chronometers. Five minutes. They all moved out in varying directions from the center of their makeshift camp, where Grant would stay and coordinate their efforts. As soon as the final Marine, Kalfor, checked in there was a call on Grant communicator. Grant flipped open his communicator.

"This is Weasel One, go ahead."

It was Parsons.

"This is Weasel Six. I'm picking up something on the tricorder."

"Specify."

There was a moment of silence. "Looks like multiple transporter beams. Massive amounts of energy."

"Location?"

"Seems to be coming from the valley, sir. Just where we thought they'd land."

Grant stepped over a small hill and produced a pair of laser binoculars from his side pouch. He aimed them down into the valley and put the magnification on full. As his filed of view came into focus Grant visually verified what Parsons sensors were telling him. The Klingon's were beaming down massive amounts of troop…whole battalions…one after another. Grants communicator chirped again. It was from the Marine base.

"Weasel One here."

"Weasel One, this is Shruth. Sensors are picking up landing craft, coming down in your area."

Grant didn't need his binoculars for this sight. Overhead, from above the clouds, came the whirling sounds of shuttle engines. Then, like an apple falling from a tree, the Klingon landing craft emerged from the low clouds and landed softly in the field. Each one looked to be capable of hauling a whole squad of hover tanks in their engorged bellies.

Grant singled his team on their communicators.

"Alright people, stay frosty."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Stardate 4011.014

Eleven parsecs from the Nozseca system, at the same moment that Lieutenant Grant was witnessing the arrival of the Klingon ground forces, Commander Dean Macknair of the _Larson_-class destroyer U.S.S. _Demetrius_ was sipping gingerly at his cup of tea on the bridge of his ship. In the past five months the _Demetrius_ had seen her share of action along the ever expanding borders of the Klingon Empire, and Macknair was enjoying this brief respite between scuffles.

Truth be told, he was amazed to be alive at this point.

At the height of the engagement at Lea the _Demetrius_ was being pursued by no less than three Klingon cruisers. Macknair had the engineering staff working double-time just to keep ahead of the enemy forces. Despite the fact that his vessel had been undamaged there was an explosion in engineering. A plasma shunt had overloaded due to one of the engineers not paying close enough attention to any one of a dozen dials he was responsible for monitoring. As a result, one of the magnetic bottles that contained the anti-matter for the ships warp drive had almost ruptured due to containment field loss. Warp drive power was immediate cut by twenty percent and the ship had lurched forward, sending the entire crew sprawling to the deck.

The Science Officer then reported that the Klingon's would be on them in moments at their present speed. As if to reinforce the officer's projections a torpedo streaked past the ship, narrowly avoiding the warp nacelle.

Macknair had then ordered evasive maneuvers. He would not give up without a fight. He turned the ship in a wide arch to port at full impulse and brought his weapons to bear on the Klingon's last known position, but they were gone. For whatever reason they had vacated the sector and had plotted a course back to the Lea system. Macknair was not about to question the motives of a race he could not even begin to understand. Fearing the outcome of looking a gift horse in the mouth the _Demetrius_ again turned one-hundred and eighty degrees and maneuvered back on their original escape vector.

Macknair wondered about the loss of life at Lea. There had been reports shortly after the battle that indicated that the Klingon's-after obliterating one destroyer and heavily damaging the U.S.S. Constitution—had decided to leave the crippled star ship where it lay and continued on in search of more illustrious targets. Some of the subspace messages even suggested that this same roving Klingon squadron had made it all the way to Janni IV. Macknair, however, was not interested in vague speculations or unsubstantiated rumors. As unhealthy as it was for a commanding office of a starship to have such feeling, Macknair wanted nothing more that pure revenge for the death that the Klingon's had dealt out to the Federation forces.

After limping along in space for nearly two weeks the _Demetrius_ received a subspace message from the _Heston_-class battle cruiser U.S.S. _Bogart. _The message indicated that the Bogart was part of a new task force assigned to this sector, and that Star Fleet command had ordered all ships in the immediate vicinity to link up with the _Bogart_, which would then act as the command vessel for the group. Macknair had responded to the request and had informed the Bogart of the _Demetrius_'s condition, to which the commanding officer of the battle cruiser—one Captain Raymond Constello—had informed Macknair that a tender was already assigned to the task force. The _Bogart_ would take the _Demetrius_ under tow to the rendezvous point for the group and the destroyer would undergo any needed repairs at that time.

At first sight of the _Bogart_ Macknair was taken aback by her sheer size. She was every bit as majestic as the new Constitution class cruisers coming out of the shipyards. In fact, the _Heston_-class shared many of the same systems on the slightly smaller cruiser she was based on. Where the two classes shared the essentially unchanged saucer-shaped primary hull, the _Heston_- class had a reshaped secondary hull. The shuttle bay was positioned above the primary deflector dish on the front of the hull and a secondary deflector was placed on the aft end of the hull. This allowed for a better protection and sensor capabilities on the otherwise unprotected aft end of the ship. The _Bogart's_ warp pylons were also slightly shorter than her _Constitution_ cousin. This placed the warp nacelles below the centerline of the primary saucer instead of slightly above it. Where the _Constitution_-class was geared towards interstellar exploration and scientific study, the _Heston_-class did away with almost all of the science spaces to make room for improved weapons and targeting systems, not to mention the more advanced computers and personnel that they required. The addition of these systems reclassified her from a standard heavy cruiser to the designation battle cruiser, the first types of vessels to receive this classification in the history of Star Fleet.

Once the _Bogart_ had arrived at the rendezvous point with the _Demetrius _in tow a destroyer tender immediately pulled alongside the crippled destroyer. The U.S.S. _Egypt_ extended a retractable airlock that connected to the _Demetrius_'s airlock on the secondary hull. This better facilitated the transit of the work parties need to affect all of the required repairs to the _Demetrius_'s damaged warp propulsion systems, as well as loading a fresh supply of weapons for the defensive systems and perishables for the crew.

As the repairs had progressed aboard the Demetrius, Commander Dean Macknair was debriefed by Captain Constello onboard the _Bogart_ and introduced to the other ship captains in the small fleet. Along with the_ Bogart _and the_ Egypt_, the Federation forces also counted one _Baton Rouge_-class escort cruiser—The U.S.S. _Saladin,_ two _Anton_-class light cruisers—The U.S.S. _Pinafore_ and the U.S.S. _Amsterdam_, two _Locknar_-class frigates—the U.S.S. _Los Angeles _and the U.S.S. _Mordensia_, and one additional _Larson_-class destroyer—the U.S.S. _Waterloo_. The commanding officer of the Waterloo, Commander Bryce Selbert, had been a classmate of Macknair at Star Fleet Academy. The others he had either never heard of or had known only by reputation. After all of the introductions and informal pleasantries had been exchanged Constello called the briefing to order.

He was a tall human of Spanish descent. His hair, jet black and think, was pulled back tightly over his scalp. His presence was commanding and his voice strong. It became immediately apparent to all that Constello was the kind of person who talked with is hands, using almost wild gestures at times when describing the overall situation in the sector the task force now found themselves in.

"As you can see from the tactical displays in front of you, the situation we are now facing is critical. Even with all of our combined strengths, we are still a small fish in a very large pond."

Where at first the screens displayed a series of blue triangles to represent the Star Fleet vessels in the task force, it now zoomed out to encompass the entire sector. The starship captains looked in astonishment as the task force triangles became smaller and smaller, to then being surrounded on almost all sides by red triangles representing Klingon forces in the area. As the map stopped its motion Constello began speaking again. "What you are seeing now represents the entire sector, or one-hundred square parsecs. As you can also see, we are very nearly surrounded on three sides by enemy forces."

It was true. The only area that contained more Federation ships than Klingon ones was on the top-section of the sector map. Unfortunately, there were almost no star bases or Federation member worlds in that area. It would be easy pickings for the Klingon's when and if they choose to begin pushing toward the Federations core again.

"Our orders are to proceed to this point. It's been designated GR-1." As if on command, a small point on the top portion of the sector map began flashing yellow.

One of the officers, the captain of the _Amsterdam_, spoke up. "GR-1, sir?"

"Yes. It stands for Ground Retake-One, and we are part of the operation of the same name. We've been ordered to form the spearhead of a new offensive in this sector. Fleet Command is sending additional forces to reinforce our position as we begin to push those Klingon hellions back to that God-forsaken piece of space that hatched them." This statement brought a round of smiles from all of the officers in the briefing room and one none-to-subtle whoop from the captain of the _Los Angeles_.

"All of the additional details of the mission have been encoded and will be sent directly to you all once you report back to your vessels. All of you will form into a v-formation, with the Bogart in the lead. If there is anything out there, I'm taking my command prerogative and firing first. The rest of you can join in the fun from there. That is all, Gentleman. Dismissed."

The officer's all rose from their chairs at once. Constello left the briefing room, followed by the yeoman who had been assigned to note the minutes of the briefing. After all of the remaining commanding officers had exited the room to return to their vessels, Selbert remained behind to talk with Macknair. The two stood straight and tall on opposite sides of the briefing room table, each wondering who would be the first to speak.

After an uncomfortably long silence, Bryce thought it was time to take the initiative. This conversation was a long time coming, and while he felt noticeably uncomfortable being in the same room with Macknair, Selbert also felt relieved to finally be getting this out of the way. They had a job to do right now, and despite their personal feelings towards each other, neither could afford to let those negative emotions cloud their judgment.

"It's been a long time, Dean." Bryce said slowly.

"Almost ten years now." Macknair said, letting no expression cloud his face.

There was another long silence in the room. What could Bryce possibly say to take down any barriers that stood between the two captains? Bryce had no idea how high those walls had become until he was suddenly thrust into this situation with Macknair. Selbert thought of his ship and of his crew. He needed to return to the _Waterloo_ within the hour to begin preparations for getting underway. This stonewalling between the two officers needed to be put to rest once and for all, one way or another. Bryce decided to just get it over with.

"About Mary…I'm sorry I couldn't be there." There, he said it. The words tasted bitter in his mouth. Even though it was the truth, he couldn't begin to bear the though of Dean and Mary together, even during those last few months when Bryce knew she needed all the help and comfort she could get.

Macknair shifted uncomfortably, taking in a deep breath and exhaling slowly. What was Bryce expecting? That all could be forgiven? Mary was not a wedge that should have been used to drive the two captains…two close friends…apart. But she _was_ used, and Dean and Bryce were both responsible for doing it. Dean had hoped this moment would never have come, but he also knew that somewhere—deep in the recesses of his psyche—that he needed closure on this matter to completely move on after Mary's death.

"She…" Dean said as an image of his dead wife flashed into his memory, filling his heart with pain, sorrow, love, and happiness all at one. The emotional onslaught—one he hadn't felt since that day at the hospital—was almost too much for him to bear. He managed to pull his Starfleet command hat back over his emotions and continue to speak.

"She asked for you…on that last day." He said dryly, looking down to his feet for a brief second.

Bryce just stood there. No words. No emotion. Really, what could he even say?

"I wanted to be there…for both of you. I just…"

"You just couldn't…or you just didn't have the courage, is that right?" Dean shot back, too quickly and with far more spitefulness than he really wanted.

Bryce's expression changed then, not to one of anger, but to one of sorry and remorse. "…It was a little of both, I suppose."

Dean placed his hands on the seatback in front of him, bracing himself. "Some of her last words were for both of us. Really…I think they were for all three of us." Dean said as his words trailed off. "You should have been there, dammit. You were my best friend...we were all best friends…and you should have been there, regardless of what had happened in the past,"

"Even though I almost destroyed your relationship by what I did…?" Bryce said back in honest pain.

Dead stepped back from the chair and rounded the table to come face to face with Commander Selbert. Bryce thought Dean was going to rush him, to strike out will all the pent up range that Bryce knew that Macknair was harboring. Instead he stopped to just within striking distance.

"What you did…what both of you did…actually brought us close together, if you can believe that. I won't lie to you…there was a lot of devastation in the wake of that night…but Mary and I worked through it. It took a few years, but we worked through it. I thought about sending a subspace message to you…to try and…well, it just never happened."

"And then she got sick…"

"Yes. There was nothing I could do. There was nothing anyone could have done. She just needed someone to be there, you know?"

"I understand."

Dean looked to his old friend. "There are some things that time erased, some things that silence erased, and there are some things that can never be erased, no matter how hard either one of us tries."

"Your right, of course." Bryce said. It was his turn to look down to his feet in shame. Dean fought against every emotion in his entire being and reached out to place a gentle hand on his old friends shoulder.

"Mary wouldn't want this thing between us to go on any longer. It's time to heal old wounds, Bryce."

Selbert looked up to see his old friend smiling an uneasy smile. He reached out and patted Dean's hand. "We'll try and work it out…somehow."

"I think she'd really have liked that." Dean said, fighting back the tears that he knew would stream from his eyes the moment he returned to his personal cabin on the _Demetrius_.

"* * * * *"

Dean Macknair pulled his uniform tunic over his head and once again became the official commanding officer of the _Demetrius_. Once he had gotten back aboard his ship he went straight for his quarters, informing his first officer that there would be a formal briefing fifteen minutes after his arrival via the intercom system in the ships transporter room. He needed the extra time to take a shower and scrub off the feelings that had washed over him while he was aboard the _Bogart_. Some feelings—as he had described to Selbert—were impossible to eradicate completely. However, he felt that he had regained all the composure his position as Captain dictated and he was ready and willing to return to duty.

He left his quarters, striding quickly through the small maze of interconnecting corridors that would lead him to the nearest express turbolift back to the bridge—the one place on the _Demetrius_ that he truly felt was like home. It was where he made a difference, where he could affect policy, where everyone counted on him to guide the ship home safely and back to the loved ones they had left behind those many months ago. To say that Macknair was jealous of those crewmembers that had spouses to go home to would be an understatement, but this ship was his home now. This is where he was needed. The _Demetrius_ was now his first love, although he would never fully admit it to himself—if only to honor the memory of his wife.

Macknair had asked his first officer, Lieutenant Commander Westergard, to gather all of the department heads in the briefing room to go over the minutes obtained from the command briefing on the _Bogart_. Once the meeting was finished Macknair and Westergard returned to the bridge. Dean settled into the command chair, the soft and forgiving leather crumpling slightly under his weight. Macknair watched as Westergard took up his position at the helm console.

Macknair tapped the controls on the armchair of his seat that would link his transmitter directly to the control panel in engineering where the chief would undoubtedly be sitting.

"Engine room, this is the Captain."

"Engine room here, sir." Came the voice of Sharon Florian, the _Demetrius_'s chief engineer. She had been serving on the _Demetrius_ only a short time, but her performance had been amazing thus far. Before being stationed on the _Demetrius_ she had made a name for herself at Starbase Nine, where her skills in engineering and power generation systems had become something of a legend. Macknair hadn't had the time to go over all of the 'stories' he had heard about her with the chief engineer, but if they were anything like the skill she had shown thus far, they were stories to be believed for sure.

"We'll be going to warp speed soon, chief. Is everything ready?" Macknair asked.

"Ready and waiting for your order, sir."

"Very good." Macknair said, then signed off the channel. "Mr. Westergard, lay in the new course heading. Once the Bogart jumps into warp I want to be right behind her."

"Already laid in, Captain."

On the view screen the _Bogart_ jumped into warp. The automated control on the helm, having been signaled a micro-second beforehand about the _Bogart_'s intentions, performed a thousand calculations in the microsecond and leapt into warp with the rest of the task force.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Stardate 4011.014

The war had at last come to the idyllic planet of Nozseca VIII. This was not at all what Grant had wanted—or expected—when he joined the 7th Marine Expeditionary forces those many months ago. From their vantage point high atop the ridge, Grant's reconnaissance team witnessed the Klingon forces massing in the field below and it all at once seemed very surreal to him. He knew what the briefings and training missions had outlined, he knew what the fleet communications had told him and what the intelligence reports had to say, but it was all numbers and statistics up to this moment. There, in the field below, was the real thing; wave after wave of Klingon ground forces lining up in their ranks. Behind them were a squadron of attack shuttles and, behind those, were the groups of Klingon hover-tanks.

Grant crouched low, lying on his belly with his laser-binoculars held tightly to his eyes. The sun was already beating down mercilessly on the Star Fleet Marines and Grant knew that any sudden movement on his team's part could give away their position to the sensors sweeps he knew the Klingons were already performing on the area. Grant could hear the rustling of shrubs to his right and turned slowly to see who the interloper was. It was the Andorian Lance Corporal—Kalfor.

"What is it, Corporal?" Grant asked as he turned back to watch the Klingon forces continue to form into battalions.

"What do we do now, sir?" He asked, sounding more anxious than nervous.

"We wait for orders from HQ and continue our reconnaissance mission." Grant said, as if he were stating the obvious answer that the Corporal should have known.

Kalfor followed Grant's glare into the field below. The transporter beams had tapered off to a slow trickle. This was either all of the forces the Klingons had to commit-or this was just the first wave. Either way it made little difference. It was probably all they would need to get the job done.

"What do you think happened to the star ships in orbit, sir? I mean…what happened to _our _ships?"

It was a fair enough question, but the answer seemed just as obvious as the last one he had given the younger Marine. "Either they were destroyed, run off, or they are currently engaged with the enemy ships. They don't seem to have made much of an impact no matter how you look at the situation."

There was another brush of movement to Grant's left. It was Tech Sergeant Brians.

"Sir, incoming communication from HQ. General Shruth." Brians said, handing over the encrypted short-range communicator. The communicator was essentially the same as the high frequency fleet issued model, except this one tied directly into a backpack mounted encryption unit that Brians carried in his pack. There was also a high frequency repeater tucked in the pack as well, which allowed for a greater range than any standard issue communicator could ever hope to achieve. Grant grabbed the unit and—flipping it open—placed it to his ear.

"This is Weasel-One, go ahead base."

"Weasel-One, we have enemy forces attempting to form on our flank. We need you to return to base camp A.S.A.P. Do whatever you need to do to ensure the safe arrival of your team."

_What could we possible do? _Grant thought to himself._ The Klingons will probably pick us off from orbit the second we make a move_. "Aye, sir." was all he could muster. He was about to hand the communicator back to Brians when another signal from the handset got his attention. "This is Weasel-One, go ahead."

"Weasel-One this is Eagle Eye. I hear you could use a distraction, sir?"

"Say again, Eagle Eye?" Grant asked, although he was sure he heard the communication the first time.

"This is Eagle Eye. Weasel-One, prepare for dust-off."

Grant did not really know what to expect, but he knew that the pilot in the shuttle was one of the best on the base. If he had a plan to get the squad out then Grant would follow it through. There really wasn't much of a choice at this point. Grant signaled the rest of his team to form up and had Brians signal the transport shuttle.

As the transport came in to land Grant was sure that the Klingon sensors were picking it up. As if the attack shuttle's pilot was reading Grants mind, it came in low, swooped over the Marines position, and descended into the valley where the Klingons were forming. Into the valley of death. Grant picked up his communicator and screamed to the shuttle. "Eagle-Eye! This is Weasel-One…abort! I say again: Abort!"

"Negative sir, I cannot comply. Get back to base…and good luck."

As Grants team scrambled into their landing craft, Leland turned and rushed back to the ridge. He saw Eagle Eye streaming into the valley from the ridge side, phaser cannons firing in multiple directions all at once. The front lines of the Klingon forces were sent scattering in every which direction as the attack shuttle made a suicide run on the center of the formation. The Marine shuttle very nearly succeeded in breaking the Klingon formation in two before and enterprising squad of Klingons trained their heavy missile launchers on it. They unleashed a small salvo of warheads that neatly blew the Federation craft into fragments.

"Sir!" someone had yelled from behind Grant. "Sir! We have to go!" Grant turned from the sight of the smoldering wreckage that—only a moment before—had been their air support. Moments later the Marine's assault shuttle lurched forward and sped back towards the base.

"* * * * *"

On their way back to the base, as the shuttle sped over the same lush field it had crossed only a short time ago, Grant had ordered the shuttle pilot to begin a mine laying operation. The shuttles had been retrofitted with a limited supply of phaser mines for just such an event. The mines, when triggered by an unsuspecting enemy agent, would send out high bursts of phaser energy in a wide arch that covered several square meters. They were extremely difficult to diffuse and Grant had hoped they would slow down any advancing Klingon force. Unfortunately, there were simply too few mines to cover the whole field in such a short time. Instead, Grant simply laid them in what he assumed would be the most direct route the Klingon forces would take on their way to the Marine's camp.

Once Grant's team was safely back at the base he immediately rand from the shuttle hanger to the command building where General Shruth and Colonel Thomas were waiting. After a quick salute, Grant was admitted into the war planning room.

"There's no need to report, Lieutenant." Shruth said, not bothering to look up from the status display table. Grant could see that the image portrayed the Marines camp in the center of the topography, with enemy forces virtually surrounding the base.

"What are our options, sir?" Grant asked, as much to Shruth as to Thomas.

"We've ordered anti-matter grenade launchers be placed on every square meter of available roof space." Thomas said.

"And the surface-to-air torpedo launchers are being armed at this very moment." Shruth added. "I'll need you and your team to protect the main gate to the camp, Lieutenant."

Grant knew it was a suicide order. It was not the first, nor would it be the last during this day. "Yes, General."

Shruth looked up from the table. "Arm each one of men with pulsed phaser rifles and anything else you can throw at them, Lieutenant. I want a high body count out there."

"Yes, sir. Understood." Grant said, saluting and then leaving to reform his team near the main entrance.

"* * * * *"

Within minutes of his team arriving at the forward gate, Grant could hear the air raid sirens going off all over the base. He looked from tower to tow, from rooftop to rooftop, and saw that a team of heavy phaser grenade teams capped each of them. He turned his attention to the ridge where he and his team had been stationed a short time ago, and saw that the tops were now being crested by Klingon soldiers…hundreds of them…thousands. Following the first battalions were the hover tanks. They were slow and lumbering rectangular shapes of rust-red metal; with large turreted tops that swung from side to side in slow arcs.

Behind the tanks were assault craft, not very different in shape and function that the one that the Marines had at their own disposal. Each carried—Leland Grant assumed—about twenty armed infantrymen, probably a siege team that the Klingons would use one the Starfleet camp's walls were breached. All of the other troops in the front lines of the Kling forces were the grunts. The regular infantry. Cannon fodder.

Grant ordered his men to take up their assigned positions. Williams, his team sniper, took up position on the highest point of the main gate, about thirty meters up. Grant looked up to the tower just in time to see the Lance Corporal squeeze off a few rounds from his highly focused phaser rifle. The intended targets were too far distant to be seen with the naked eye, but Grant was sure that Williams had scored a few hits. Williams had never been known as a power waster.

As soon as Williams victims had hit the deck the Klingons responded by launching their own mortar attack on the base. Grant could feel the concussive impacts all around him as the Klingons tried to gauge accurate azimuth and elevation to ensure maximum damage with their rounds. So far, Grant didn't think the Klingons had hit anything of value. That was until one of the shuttle hangars erupted in a ball of flame at the far end of the base.

The Klingons never stopped marching towards the camp. They were close now, only about five-hundred meters. The Starfleet mortars were firing almost non-stop at this point. There were explosions on the once beautiful field now. Some were from the impact of the anti-matter grenades; some were from the phaser mines that Grant had lain earlier. Grant heard a whooshing sound overhead and turned to see the photon torpedo launchers firing barrages into the midday sky, their intended targets in low orbit above the battlefield. Grant hoped that more than a few of those torpedoes found their mark.

Grant saw Kalfor out of his peripheral vision. The Andorian had taken up a firing position on the opposite side of the camp gate from Grant. Kalfor had switched his phaser rifle over to short burst mode. While this decreased the punch of each blast, it allowed for better consumption of power and more rate of discharge. Leland could see the effect that the Andorian's fire was having as line after line of Klingon troops fell to the ground, never to get up again. Grant could hear Throm, the Tellerite Private, scream some unknown obscenities as he fired salvo after salvo from his anti-matter grenade launcher. Grant fired off a few more rounds, taking out two more Klingon foot soldiers, then looked back to Kalfor.

"Corporal? What's your status?" He asked, yelling over the tang of war to the Lance Corporal who was only about five meters away.

"Running low on power, sir." Kalfor replied in between firing rounds.

Just then, a Klingon missile founds its target, striking the wall beside Kalfor and obliterating the wall and the Andorian in the same moment and flung Grant onto his backside.

For Grant everything began moving in a sort of slow motion. His hearing had gone and he could feel bits of rubble rain down onto his helmet and body as he tried to stumble to his feet. Out of nowhere Parsons, the sensor officer, had rushed to the Lieutenants side. He was saying something, as if his lips were moving but no sound was coming out. It didn't take long for Grant to figure out the silent word that Parsons was—in fact—screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Move!"

Parsons grabbed Grant by the elbow and dragged the Lieutenant to his feet just as the sound began to return to Grant's ears. Grant could discern an enemy missile scream overhead and make its impact elsewhere on the base.

"Where are we going?" Grant stammered as he regained his balance.

"We need to fall back to the command center, sir. We need to protect the General."

Grant turned and saw the gate that he and Kalfor had been protecting had turned into an unrecognizable pile of debris and twisted metal. Leland looked to the tower where Williams had been positioned, but the tower was now completely gone.

A Klingon tank punched through a relatively undamaged portion of the wall, sending bits of cement and plasti-steel chunks in a dozen different directions. At its present speed it would take only a few seconds before the tank landed right on top of Grant. Grant withdrew his sidearm and he and Parsons fired round after round into the vehicle and were having no luck. Suddenly there was explosion just ahead of the tank that sent it spiraling out of control, flipping it over and back on its own path. Grant and Parsons looked to one another, then to the sound of laughter behind them. It was Throm—his grenade launcher still smoking from the round it had just fired.

"Sorry, sir." The Tellerite shouted through bits of hysteria. "I should have said 'fire in the hole' first."

"Got any more rounds, Private?" Grant asked.

"Yes, sir. Five more." Throm responded as he picked himself up.

"Good. See if you can take out any more of those tanks."

"And thanks!" Parsons yelled as the Tellerite took off to find more targets of opportunity.

"Come on." Grant said as the two officers ran towards the damaged command building. As they neared the main entrance there was a barrage of disrupter fire that sent the two Marines sprawling for cover. Grant jumped behind a ruined wall while Parsons had taken up position behind an overturned personnel carrier.

Grant leaned his head out to try to locate the Klingon, but as soon as he peered out there was another blast of disrupter fire.

"Sniper!" Grant yelled. "Parsons, maintain cover!"

"That's the best order I've gotten all day, sir!" He yelled back.

There seemed to be silence in the immediate area. It was almost as if time was standing still. Grant looked from side to side of his position, looking to see if he could get out of his predicament and crawl to another vantage point. It was not looking good. His pocket began beeping and he realized all at once that he had forgotten which pouch he had placed his communicator. Grant fumbled with his rifle, then finally sat it down and with drew the communicator for his right front pouch.

"Grant here." He said softly, as if his voice were any louder it would give away his position.

"This is Zinsak. I have your sniper in my sights. Stand by, sir."

After a tense moment there was the sounds of a struggled, then the unmistakable dull thud as a body hit the ground. Zinsak appeared from behind an alcove, no weapon in his hands. Not that he really needed one. He was trained in more martial arts than anyone Grant had ever known.

Grant, Zinsak, and Parsons made their way into the command building uncontested. There were bodies of fallen marine's everywhere and the sounds of death and destruction rang out from all over the base. Grant could hear explosions and the exchanges of phaser and disrupter fire seemingly coming from every direction.

They entered the war room and found Shruth still leaning over the status table. Colonel Thomas was either dead or unconscious against the far wall.

"What are your orders, sir?" Grant asked as the remainder of his team came to attention in the General's presence.

"I've set the base automated destruct sequence to be activated on my next command." Shruth inclined his head to a computer terminal on the wall. One solitary red light flashed in slow sequence. One of us will need to press that button."

"And then?" Zinsak asked.

"The anti-matter furnace cooling valves will shut off. Fifteen seconds later everything within twenty kilometers of this base will be leveled." Shruth said in a matter of fact tone. "We need to draw as many of those Klingon devils into the destruction radius as possible. I've set the rooftop torpedo launchers to full automatic. They will keep firing until they run out of ammunition. Sensor reports indicate that we have already disabled two of their destroyers."

Grant looked to his men, then back to General Shruth. "We understand, sir."

The building began to a slow rhythmic rumble, then started to quake dangerously. Grant, weather consciously or not, ran to the window to see what was happening. There in the courtyard of the command building were three hover tanks with their cannons pointed directly at the war room's level in the command building.

"Take cover!" Grant yelled as he pivoted on his heel.

Then everything went black.

"* * * * *"

"My lord, we've found something."

"Yes, what is it?"

The Klingon climbed over a piece of rubble that had once been a door and handed a computer display to his commanding officer.

"Sir, it appears that they had the base wired for a self-destruct."

The Klingon general looked as the shambles of the command center and scoffed at the destruction. "These pitiful fools can't even kill themselves correctly. It's no wonder that we have advanced so far into their territory."

"Yes, my lord." The Klingon guard sneered.

"Disgusting." The General replied. "These weaklings beg for death. They have no honor."

'Sir!" Sounded another soldier from behind the General. "We've found a survivor."

The General turned to his subordinate. "Ah. It appears that this day may not have been entirely wasted. I have been anxious to try out some of the new interrogation methods devised by our scientists. Where is he?"

"Outside, my lord. It appears he may have been thrown free of the explosion that killed his comrades. He is in need of medical attention."

The General, flanked by his aids, descended the two flights of stairs through brought them down to ground level and they then exited into the destroyed courtyard. There, huddled around by Klingon ground troops, was the broken remains of Lieutenant Leland Grant.

"He's alive?" The General asked, not averting his gaze from the fallen marine.

The Klingon physician stood up from the wounded marine. "Barely, my lord. His identity card."

The General took the card and slid it into the reader provided by his aid. "Well, what do we have here? It looks like a Federation officer. Colonel Ronald Givers of Starfleet Intelligence."

"Someone of great importance, sir?" The Generals aid asked.

"It would seem so." The General replied, handing the card reader back to his aid. "Healer, attend to his wounds and have him beamed aboard my ship. His knowledge may be useful to us."

"Yes, my lord." The physician replied, and then ejected Grant with a red substance from his hypo spray. A moment later, the two beamed up to the command ship.

"My lord. Your orders?"

"Find any computer terminal-operational or not-and strip as much information from it as you can. Once that is complete, we will destroy this base from orbit. Our comrades are already establishing our own fortification several hundred kilometers from here. It amazes me that these humans know so little of ground warfare. This site is completely ill suited for a base of operations. The smell alone of the decaying humans is enough to turn even a warrior's stomach sour. The stench pollutes my nostrils and I wish to disintegrate it. These bodies are not even worthy of a warriors funeral."

"I have my orders and I will obey, my lord."

"See that you do. Report to me anything you find here. I am returning to the ship to see if our prisoner has anything redeeming to say about the waste of life and resources displayed here today."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Stardate 4011.015

As ordered, the ships of Task Force Three had arranged themselves into a diamond formation, with the U.S.S. _Bogart_ in the lead. Aft of the _Bogart_, on the port and starboard sides respectfully, were the _Larson_-class destroyers with the heavy cruiser U.S.S. _Saladin_ tucked neatly between them. The _Anton_-class cruisers had taken up the far points of the diamond formation, and the _Locknar_-class frigates had taken up station in the rear of the formation.

The task force had just dropped out of warp and headed towards their intended destination, codenamed GR-1.

Commander Dean Macknair-despite his best intentions-still couldn't get the unintentional meeting between himself and Commander Bryce Selbert out of his mind. Was he feeling anger? Was it frustration? Or was it simply the reminder of the loss of his wife, something he hadn't really dealt with since her passing? He wasn't sure, nor did he think he would ever truly be sure.

Captain Constello, on board the _Bogart_, had relayed a subspace distress call from the Marine encampment on Nozseca about thirty minutes prior to the task force arriving at GR-1. Constello had advised the group of Federation starships that they were too far away to render any assistance to the Marines. Macknair had asked his communications officer to send another message to the Bogart, asking for the status of the Marines on Nozseca. Dean was sitting in his command chair, fingers strumming absentmindedly on his armrest, when the reply came through to the _Demetrius_.

"Commander Macknair, call coming in from the _Bogart_. It's Captain Constello." The young Ensign said from the communications station.

"On screen, please."

On the view screen was the image of the _Bogart_, just to the starboard-forward quarter of the _Demetrius_ by five-hundred kilometers. The image of the impressive _Heston_-class wavered on the screen and faded out to be replaced by the face of Captain Raymond Constello. He was a middle aged man, probably in his late forties, his brown hair showing bits of the salt-and-pepper gray that comes with midlife in most humans. Macknair had recently become aware that Constello had turned down a promotion to the rank of Admiral. Dean assumed that Constello's decision probably had something to do with the fact that such a promotion would take Raymond out of the front lines and put him behind a desk somewhere. After reviewing Constello's record, Macknair was glad to have such a seasoned and well-disciplined officer commanding the tack group.

"Commander Macknair, what is your status?"

"All ships functions are at nearly one-hundred percent. Our chief engineer is adjusting the last of our concerns right now."

"Something with the engines?" Constello asked.

"No, sir. He's doing some fine-tuning on the port phaser banks. Nothing serious, he's just trying to squeeze a little more power from the emitters."

"Good to hear it, Dean. I have to say I was pretty happy to get you into this group. We have a lot of fine officers here, not to mention a pretty impressive display of force in our star ships."

"Agreed, sir. But, as for the reason I called…" Dean let his words trail off and Constello picked up on the hesitation after only a moment.

"The Marines on Nozseca?"

"Yes, sir."

Constello took a deep breath. "Still no word. At last report they were being overrun by Klingon ground forces. The base was pretty small. I know General Shruth personally, and I'm sure he's put up the best fight that anyone could have asked from him. Maybe even more, but as far as there being any survivors…well, we still haven't heard anything yet."

"I understand, sir."

"We have half of our communications system dedicated to any calls that might come from the base. If we hear anything from them, I'll make the decision at that time weather we can turn around and render them any assistance."

"Of course, sir."

"Right now we need to focus the rest of our resources here at GR-1. My science officer seems to think that there may be a major Klingon strike force in the area. Once we've established weather or not that's true I'll make sure to contact the task force immediately and disseminate battle orders."

"Yes, sir. Thank you for contacting us."

"No problem, Dean. We're all on edge here. Don't let other conflicts discourage you from our task here."

"Understood, Captain."

Constello smiled. "Let's see if we can find some Klingon's and settle a few scores, aye?"

"It'd be a pleasure, sir." Dean said as the channel signed off, the image of Constello fading back to that of the _Bogart_.

"* * * * *" 

"Sensor contact!"

"Range?" Commander Selbert requested.

"Ten-thousand kilometers and closing fast, sir!"

"Hail the _Bogart_. I want to verify everyone is seeing this."

Captain Constello had ordered the Waterloo ahead of the task force to scout a nearby sector of space that was assumed to be devoid of anything interesting. Commander Selbert had taken the change of pace with delight. The task force had been in their current position for almost three hours. Each of the ships had conducted an exhaustive sensor sweep of the area and had reported to Constello their findings—or lack there of. Constello had then ordered the _Waterloo_ to proceed to the next sector on the task force's current vector, and had then commanded the _Mordensia_ to perform the same scan on the adjacent sector.

Commander Wishart, on board the _Mordensia_, had reported nothing of interest in his sector—save for a class-three comet that was far from out of the ordinary. However, as soon at the _Waterloo_ had entered the sector just ahead of the rest of the task force her sensors had sprang to life with new contacts.

On the bridge of the _Waterloo_ the image of the streaming star field was replaced with the image of Captain Constello. "Report, Commander Selbert."

"Exact figures are coming in now, sir." Bryce said to the task group commander, then turned to his science officer.

Lieutenant Commander Overson was from Alpha Centauri, the plant of choice for Zephram Cochrane's first fast than light travel more than a century ago. In the proceeding years it had become a major member of the Federation and had produced some of the finest scientific and command personnel in Starfleet—Vulcan not withstanding.

"Report, Mr. Overson."

"Multiple sensor contacts, sir. Sensors are showing no less than three D-7 heavy cruisers and two D-16 destroyers. However, at this range there could very well be more."

"Specify." Selbert asked, prodding his science officer for further details.

"It's quite possible that the Klingon's are cruising in such a tight formation that the ships sensors are unable to distinguish one vessel from another. If that is the case we could be looking at twice as many craft as the long-range sensors are currently reporting. And sir…"

"Yes, Mr. Overson."

Overson turned from the sensor hood of his console to look at his captain. "They appear to be on an intercept course with us."

Commander Selbert turned his attention back to Captain Constello's image on the forward view screen. "Did you read that, Captain?"

"I heard it. We're proceeding to your coordinates at warp factor three. We should be there in less than ten minutes. Keep your distance from the Klingon's, Commander. Reverse course if you have to. Keep the range between you and the Klingon's to no less than two thousand kilometers. Your ship just won't stand the pounding if they are allowed to get any closer and we are going to need the combined strength of the task force to deal with the enemy."

Selbert felt as if any minute he would break into a cold sweat. "Understood, sir. We'll maintain an open communication channel with you, as well as a sensor bearing on the enemy contacts."

Constello's finger hovered over a switch on the armrest of his chair. "We'll be there shortly, Commander. Constello out." Selbert say Constello push the button and the channel was closed.

"Helmsman," Bryce began. "I want the forward view screen on maximum magnification. If our sensors can tell us what we need to know than maybe our good old fashioned eyes will."

"Yes, sir." The officer reported, then switched the viewer to full magnification. Even now the Klingon ships were a barely visible blotch on the screen, almost indistinguishable from the star field that they seemingly hovered in.

Selbert knew that the image would get a lot cleaner in the next few minutes as the Klingon's closed the distance between the ships. He only hoped it wouldn't be too late for the _Waterloo_ by the time that happened.

"* * * * *"

By the time the rest of the Federation task force had arrived, the Klingons had closed to a considerably short distance with the _Waterloo_. The small _Larson_-class destroyer was speeding away from the Klingons at full power, but the faster enemy ships were closing in quickly. As Constello's sensors had confirmed, the _Waterloo_ was just outside of the weapons range of the lead Klingon vessels—the two D-16 _Swiftwind_ destroyers. However, if the more heavily armed Klingon heavy cruisers decided to take over the chase, the _Waterloo_ would be done for. The Federation ship was already well within the cone of fire for the D-7's. the only thing holding the faster D-7's back was the fact that their comrades in the _Swiftwind'_s were directly in their line of fire.

Constello decided to even the odds before the situation became untenable. He quickly ordered the remainder of the task force to form up with the _Waterloo_. As the Federation destroyer sped up to the group, Constello ordered that a hole be opened in the port side of the formation. The _Waterloo_ sped over the starboard side of the task force at full impulse, passing over and between the _Demetrius_ and the light cruiser _Pinafore._ She then made a tight turn to port and formed up with the group in between the heavy cruiser _Saladin_ and the remaining light cruiser, the U.S.S. _Amsterdam_.

As soon as the _Waterloo_ was in position, the _Bogart_ received the communication it had been waiting for: The _Mordensia_ had entered the sector and would be linking up with the rest of the task force in less than two minutes. Once all of the Federation forces were back into their original diamond formation the Klingons began to slow to one-quarter impulse.

On the bridge of the _Waterloo_, Commander Selbert looked to his science officer.

"What are they doing?"

"Unknown, sir." Overson said. After looking at the forward view screen for a moment, he turned his attention back to the hood of his sensor readout computer. "The rest of our forces are slowing as well."

Selbert shot the order to the helmsman. "Reduce speed to one-quarter impulse."

On the bridge of the _Bogart_ Captain Constello was also gazing at the image of the Klingon ships on the view screen. There they were-larger than life itself and less than two-thousand kilometers of the bow. It almost looked as if the Klingon ships were hanging motionless in space, but then there was movement.

The two _Swiftwind_'s changed course, heading away from one another at their current speed of less than half-impulse. When they were sufficiently far enough apart the heavier Klingon cruisers moved to the front of the back. But, not quite the front. Instead, all of the Klingon ships moved simultaneously to reform their positions. Soon Constello was staring a straight line of Klingons—the three D-7's in the middle and capped at either end by a _Swiftwind_ destroyer.

Constello had to move quickly. Although the Klingons were outnumbered eight-to-five, the current position of the enemy craft put all of their weapons to bear on five of the Federation star ships, with the three remaining Federation ships tucked in behind the ones in front of them. Constello needed to push the odds in favor of the Star Fleet crews. He ordered the Federation ships to form in the same fashion, an abreast formation. He would meet the Klingons head on in only a few seconds.

Just as the two _Locknar_-class frigates were coming out from behind the task force and around their respective sides of the deflating diamond formation they had been in, the Klingons opened fire with everything they had.

The Klingons were—apparently—quite selective in their targets. Constello had though that all of their weapons would bear down on the heaviest Federation ship first, and then they would take out the smaller ships one-by-one. Instead, the Klingons again broke formation and attacked individual targets. It was a brilliant diversionary tactic, as the one ship that Constello had locked his weapons on suddenly changed its heading and dove after the _Saladin._ However, the other two Klingon heavy cruisers had put the _Bogart_ and the _Waterloo_ in their sights, each taking their own predefined target.

True to his word, Constello ordered the _Bogart_ to open fire with full phasers, and thus signaled the rest of the Federation forces to do the same. The _Bogart'_s beams lanced out from the front of the primary hull and struck the Klingon cruiser on the forward bridge section. The science officer had reported that the phasers had caused almost no damage to the ships, but the Klingons shields were fluctuating.

The _Demetrius_ was not faring as well. She had taken a direct hit from two photon torpedoes as the Klingon cruiser sailed triumphantly under her after unleashing its salvo. Commander Macknair had been thrown free of his command chair and landed knee first into the hard steel deck behind the helmsman. He managed to stagger uneasily back into the command chair and reassert his control over the situation.

"Damage report!" He barked, not taking his eyes from the view screen.

Lieutenant Commander Sharon Florian spoke up from the engineering station to the left of the captains command chair. "Heavy damage to the starboard warp pylon, sir. We're going to be without warp for a few days."

Unlike her larger cousins in the fleet, the _Demetrius_ had only one warp nacelle that was supported on high by two swept back pylons that sprung up from either side of her elongated saucer section. The damage to either of the pylons was bad news. The starboard pylon held the primary plasma conduits for the anit-matter stream that—once injected into the warp nacelle—caused the formation of the stable warp filed that allowed the ship to travel at incredible velocities. The port pylon, however, contained the backup conduit that could be switched over to in emergencies. The idea of having a backup was extremely sound, but the execution of such a switch from one pylon to the other had one major drawback: It would take almost two days of work to reroute all the necessary circuits and relays.

"I'm sure this old 'gal has a lot of fight left in her." Macknair said to his engineer, a smile sneaking its way onto his face. "Try and route as much power as you can into weapons and shields. We'll worry about how to get home later."

"Aye, sir."

As the _Demetrius_ turned to once again face her opponent the _Anton_-class light cruiser _Pinafore_ came into Macknair's view and unleashed a photon torpedo at the Klingon destroyer. The impact sent the Klingon destroyer off its present course, as if it had been smacked across its bow by a giant unseen hand.

To the port side of the _Pinafore,_ the _Saladin_ and the _Mordensia_ were taking alternating turns pounding the lights out of a Klingon heavy cruiser. The Klingon cruiser seemed to be on the losing end of the scuffle. Soon its shields were failing and the weapons fire became erratic. The Captain of the frigate _Mordensia_, Commander Wishart, sent a hail to the Klingon cruiser to stand down and prepare to be boarded. After a tense moment the communications officer on the Mordensia had reported that the Klingon commander was surrendering his ship, and that his crew should be allowed to live.

"We don't kill our prisoners, commander. You will be treated well. Prepare to lower your shields so my men can beam aboard."

The _Mordensia_ moved to within transporter range of the afflicted Klingon ship, with the _Saladin_ proving cover—in case any other Klingon vessels decided to take advantage of the unprotected Star Fleet frigate. As the _Mordensia_ closed to within five-hundred meters of the Klingon ship, the D-7's shields went down. Wishart then ordered his shields to be lowered, but not before requesting that the _Saladin_ lock its remaining weapons on the crippled Klingons, just in case.

The Mordensia inched closer to the Klingons. There was almost no sign of life from the Klingon ship. In the transporter room, the _Mordensia_'s security personnel waited, fully armed and ready for anything. The call came over the intercom from the bridge. It was the Captain.

"Activate transporters."

As soon as the crewmembers had completely dematerialized from the _Mordensia_'s transporter chamber the Klingon cruiser opened fire on the small frigate with full disruptors. The green bolts of lightning seemed to flash out from every forward inch of the Klingon destroyer all at once. The first blasts destroyed the bridge, sending bodies and chucks of molten metal flying about in the icy cold vacuum of space. The second volley impacted with the starboard warp nacelle cap. The pulsating red cap exploded as the primary matter/antimatter injectors inside the nacelle were twisted into irregular shapes, causing the highly tuned plasma stream to burst out uncontrollably.

The _Saladin_ did not even have time to react. From the initial onslaught of the Klingons weapons to the now uncontrollable anti-matter explosion that was about to occur, only a fraction of a minute had elapsed. Captain Hawthorn ordered the _Saladin_ to quickly reverse its course, but it was too late. The _Mordensia_ exploded in a violent ball of blue-white flame, sending the _Saladin_ sailing to starboard as her entire hull threatened to rattle itself to pieces.

The _Bogart_, to port of the explosion of the _Mordensia_, was unharmed by the violent end to the Federation frigate. In fact, it had fared very well against the Klingon heavy cruiser that had picked a fight with the larger and more powerful Federation battle cruiser. The Klingon ship had turned a full one-hundred and eighty degrees, looking to escape the fight at its fastest possible speed. Unfortunately, for the Klingons it simply was not fast enough. Captain Constello's first priorities were to take out the Klingons warp engines. They had partially succeeded in that endeavor, destroying one nacelle completely in the first exchange of fire between the two ships. Now the Klingons, leaking plasma and losing power, were trying to extricate themselves at half-impulse power.

Constello brought the _Bogart_ on top of the Klingons quickly. The Captain waited until not one, but all of the _Bogart_'s forward weapons could be trained on the Klingon ship before he opened fire. When the Federation battle cruiser was well within the acceptable range Constello ordered a barrage of all batteries simultaneously. The phaser blasts shot out from the lower saucer section while a volley of three photon torpedoes sailed towards their intended target.

First, the phasers struck home, causing a large explosion to erupt on the aft end of the Klingon ship. Whatever was left after that was obliterated by the detonation of the torpedoes. After a flash of light the Klingon ship was gone, the total amount of debris remaining wouldn't have fit inside the Captain's personal luggage.

Onboard the _Waterloo_ Commander Bryce Selbert witnessed the destruction of the Klingon vessel by the _Bogart_.

"Send Captain Constello my compliments." The Captain said to his communications officer.

"Yes, sir." Came the reply.

"Sir, I think I have something on long range sensors, but it's a little fuzzy." Lieutenant Overson said.

"Explain fuzzy." Selbert said, not at all amused with his science officer's lack of terminology.

"Honestly, sir, I'm not sure. Would it be possible to divert some power to the sensor array? We could be seeing friendly reinforcements."

Selbert thought it over for a minute. They would be in weapons range of another Klingon ship in less than two minutes.

"Very well, but make it quick. I want that power redirected to the phasers in sixty seconds."

"Aye, sir." Overson replied, his fingers adjusting the controls at his science station before his captain had even finished his sentence.

The Waterloo turned sharply in the direction of the sensor contact and—at the same moment—became the target of choice for another Klingon heavy cruiser.

"Sir, Klingon ship entering the area." The helmsman said.

"Sir, I've almost got it." Overson replied. "Give me ten seconds."

As the seconds ticked down and the Klingon cruiser got to within range of the Waterloo's weapons Selbert could feel the sweat on the back of his neck stick to his uniform tunic.

"Overson, what do you have? We have Klingons on our tail. I need to divert all power to the shields or we're a gonner." Selbert demanded.

Just then, the contacts on the long-range sensors came into complete focus for one brief moment before power was directed to the shields.

Overson felt his heart stop as he looked to his Captain, the words coming out in a hushed whisper.

"Oh no..."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Things had just deteriorated, and there was little doubt as to how this conflict would turn out if the Federation forces did not make the proper decisions at critical junctures.

As the sensors on the _Waterloo_ had shown, there were indeed reinforcements entering the system. However, they were not Starfleet craft that had shown up on the long-range sensor report. It was—in fact-additional Klingon craft that had somehow, up to this point, gone undetected. To say that Commander Selbert was frustrated with this new information would have been a universal understatement.

"Can you tell me the exact composition of the new sensor contacts, Mr. Overson?"

"Yes, sir. The sensors have just finished a complete scan of the sector." Overson replied, then left his station to stand by his Captains side.

Commander Selbert lowered his voice as he spoke to his science officer. "What do you have?"

Overson looked his Captain in the eye, his expression not betraying the hopelessness that he now felt over their current situation. "Five more D-7 cruisers, sir. They're coming in from three different vectors."

"So, we have Klingons in front of us and behind us?" Selbert asked.

Overson gave a short nod of his head in affirmation. "One of the cruisers also looks like's it coming in from our starboard flank, sir."

"We're surrounded then?"

"And quite effectively, sir."

There was little time to waste, so none could be spared to save any of the bridge crew from the shocking news that was probably already floating throughout the task force.

"Communications. Open a channel to the _Bogart_ immediately. I want to speak to Captain Constello right now!"

On board the _Bogart_, the image of Commander Selbert flashed on the view screen.

"Sir, sensors are showing additional Klingon warships moving in on our position rapidly."

Captain Constello had just received the same information from his own science officer. "I understand, Commander. It looks like we've been led into a trap. The five ships we initially encountered must have been a ploy…to lure us further into the sector."

"Yes, sir. And it looks like they just closed the trap door behind us." Selbert said in resignation.

"Commander, standby for further orders." Constello said, then signed off the communication channel. "Communication, open a channel to the entire task force."

"Channel open, sir."

"Task Force Three, this is Captain Constello. Klingon warships have surrounded the entire group. Disregarded formation orders and fire at will at any target of opportunity. I want to inflict as much damage as we can and try to escape. If you can manage to punch a hole in the Klingon defenses, you are ordered to escape on any vector and at any speed you can muster. Good luck to you all. Constello out."

The _Bogart_, not wasting any time with strategies, continued to open fire on the D-7 that was right off her bow. She let loose with a spread of torpedoes that impacted with the forward superstructure of the Klingon cruiser, casing the metal bubble-like structure to crush like wet cardboard. The _Waterloo_ came in to support her wing mate; firing another spread of torpedoes at the secondary hull and blasting the vessels warp nacelles with phaser fire. The Klingon cruiser cracked into large chunks, atmosphere and debris raining out from inside the tears in the hull.

Meanwhile, the light cruiser _Amsterdam_ and the frigate _Los Angeles_ alternated their fire on the remaining Klingon destroyer that they had in their sights. The Klingon ship, seeming unconcerned with the smaller Federation frigate, had concentrated all of her weapons fire on the _Amsterdam_. The Klingon ship fired her disruptors, casing the _Amsterdam_'s shields to flare as the shield generators worked quickly to compensate for the power surges they were under. The _Los Angeles_, taking her time, lined up and fired her phasers on the port warp nacelle of the Klingon ship. The first shot missed, but the second hit home, casing the running lights on the Klingon ships to flicker.

What neither of the Federation ships noticed was that one of the reinforcing Klingon cruisers had moved into perfect position behind the _Amsterdam_. The Klingon destroyer, just off the light-cruisers bow, turned and fired her disruptors at the same moment that the enemy cruiser to the read fired disruptors as well. The result was a tremendous explosion as the _Amsterdam_'s shields and warp containment seemed to give out all at once. Due to the proximity the _Los Angeles_ found herself in, she was pelted by debris from the exploding federation starship.

As frequently happed on the oceans of old earth, when the sea going navy was the ruler of the waves, ships in the fog of war could sometimes stray dangerously close to one another. The Captain of the _Los Angeles_ had to make a split second decision to move his ship away from the fireball that had—moments before—been the USS _Amsterdam_. Unfortunately, the Captain failed to check his sensor readout in that half second before his decision was made. The _Los Angeles_ turned right into the course of the _Waterloo_, which was only a thousand meters away on her starboard side.

"Sir! Collision warning!" Overson shouted. Before Selbert could even warn the crew to brace for impact the ship slammed hard to starboard as the saucer shaped primary hull came into contact with the single warp nacelle of the _Waterloo_. The impact sheared off the last dozen meters of the nacelle in the first instant, then the resulting plasma being ejected from the destroyed containment cap scorched a line of destruction across the upper hull of the _Los Angeles_ as she continued on her course over the _Waterloo_'s stern.

The _Los Angeles_, moving at almost one-quarter impulse, had no time to order another correction before the direction of the vessel brought the bridge to bear at the same point in space that the destroyed warp nacelle of the _Waterloo_ was spewing forth death. The stream destroyed the bridge deflector in a split second, and then shattered the dome cap that sat atop the bridge module. The resulting loss of pressure caused every crewmember on the bridge to be ejected into space before they even knew what had hit them.

The _Los Angeles_ continued on her course and away from the battle, adrift. She would be easy prey for the Klingons now.

The _Waterloo_, now losing power rapidly, was trying to recover from the impact she had just received. Bryce Selbert picked himself up of the deck and immediately noticed that his helmsman and navigators were unconscious or dead. He looked to the science station and was relieved to see that Overson was still there trying to make sense of everything the sensors were telling him.

"Mr. Overson, I'm taking the helm." Selbert said.

"It won't do any good, sir. All warp and impulse propulsion is down. Reaction control thrusters are at one-third power and falling rapidly. Must be a leak in the solid fuel lines on deck four."

Selbert punched up the intercom for the engineering section. "Engineer, we need power to the weapons systems. Everything you can muster." He said, but there was no response. "Engineering. Report." Selbert said franticly, then looked to Overson. "Are internal communications down?"

"Negative sir. However, I am not getting any life sign readings in engineering. In fact, all of deck eight is totally without life support power."

"Cause?" Selbert asked, although it was more out of habit than anything else. In a few minutes it would not really matter how or why it happened.

"We impacted with another vessel. Major structural damage, sir." Overson said as he peered into the blue-lighted sensor readout at his station. "Two Klingon vessels approaching, sir. One destroyer and one cruiser."

On board the _Demetrius_ Commander Dean Macknair had his hands full. With the _Mordensia_ destroyed, there were now four Klingon heavy cruisers against Macknair's small destroyer, the heavy cruiser _Saladin_, and the light cruiser _Pinafore_.

"Sir, incoming communication from the _Waterloo_. Priority: Urgent."

"Put it on the screen." Macknair ordered. Dean could see that the bridge of the _Waterloo_ was in shambles. Arcs and sparks from a half dozen consoles were flashing at random intervals behind the dirty soot-stained image of Commander Bryce Selbert.

"I don't have much time, Dean. The Klingons are almost on top of us. Just wanted to say I was sorry." Selbert said in his most nonchalant voice. It was almost as if he were not about to die, but instead was informing Dean that he would be late for a dinner engagement.

"We'll be there in a few seconds, Bryce. Let me just—"

"Don't bother." Bryce said with a wry smile. "Looks like you got your hands full, anyways. I'll tell Mary you said 'hi'. I'm sure she'd—"

There was a brilliant explosion behind Selbert, then the image on the view screen faded and was replaced by an empty star field.

"Selbert! Bryce!" Dean yelled into the communication speaker on his armrest.

"No use, sir." Commander Westergard said dejectedly. "The _Waterloo_ has been destroyed."

"Sir! The _Pinafore_ has managed to escape." The _Bogart_'s Communications officer rang out.

"That's one piece of good news. What about the rest of the force?" Constello asked, wiping a fresh bead of sweat from his brow.

"The _Mordensia_, the _Waterloo_, and the _Amsterdam_ have all been destroyed. The _Los Angeles_ is drifting with minimal power, sir." The science officer reported.

"We need to regroup. Communications, order the remaining ships to form a perimeter around the _Los Angeles_. I want to be able to beam out any survivors before we escape the system ourselves."

"Aye, sir. Sending orders now."

"He can't be serious?" Captain Hawthorn said aloud. "We're surrounded by Klingons! We'll be lucky to get of this alive ourselves, much less help anyone else."

The class-VII cruiser USS _Saladin_ made her way through the battle lines with all the grace of a cement brick through a puddle of molasses. The Baton Rouge-class of starships was the last of the old battlewagons, and thus had to make use of non-dilithium powered warp drive. This severely limited her weapons power and the overall effectiveness of the ship in an extended hostile engagement. Captain Hawthorn, on the other hand, was doing his best to show the rest of the Task Force that this old girl still had a lot of fight in her still, despite her age.

She had already dispatched on Klingon heavy cruiser and was now moving on to another. As the enemy target lined up inside Hawthorns' proverbial sights he let loose with full particle cannons—the weapons that preceded the modern photon torpedo now widely in use. As the cannon erupted from the front of the _Saladin_ the Klingon ship's shields began to glow brightly as her shield generators were quickly overloaded. This was the main purpose of the cannon, to disable the ships shields in one massive barrage and then pick apart the enemy craft with phasers.

Unfortunately, in the last decade it appeared that the Klingons had updated their shield generators. Hawthorn found that his weapons had to remain on target far longer than had been anticipated. As the Klingons shields began to fail another enemy vessel targeted the _Saladin_ and opened fire. The two pylons holding the starboard warp nacelle to the ship were sliced through from fore to aft, which caused the warp nacelle to float away effortlessly from the secondary hull of the ship.

"Sir, shields are down on the target vessel, but there are three more ships approaching fast!" The science officer belted.

"Weapons Officer, open fire with all phaser on the primary target!" Hawthorn yelled. "Orientate the starboard particle cannon on the flanking D-7 and fire when the computer has the solution."

The officers responded quickly. The _Saladin_ lifted her bow gracefully, firing her forward ventral phasers at the Klingon that was directly in their path as the Federation cruiser veered slowly to starboard and trained the accelerator cannon on the next target.

As the _Saladin_ came around Hawthorn saw on the view screen that his ship was now in perfect firing position for three of the Klingon heavy cruisers.

"Kobiashi Maru." He said to himself.

Commander Macknair turned the _Demetrius_ hard to port and found himself staring at the same three-ship squadron of D-7's that the _Saladin_ now found themselves engaged with. He ordered a communications channel to be opened with the _Bogart_, who herself was only two-thousand meters astern of the small destroyer.

"Captain Constello. Respectfully request your assistance with the forces that the _Saladin_ is now engaged with."

Constello's face was now covered in sweat that had also stained the neckline of his uniform tunic. "What about the _Los Angeles_? We need to get those survivors to safety."

"Sir, there won't be any survivors unless we can turn the tide of this engagement. We need to hit the Klingons here before we can turn our attention to our wounded comrades."

Captain Raymond Constello, a man of few words, seemed to ponder the uneasy outcome of the engagement for a brief moment. "Very well, Commander. Take the target on the port side of the _Saladin_ and we will take the one on her bow. With any luck we'll be able to draw their fire long enough for the old cruiser to extricate herself through the opening."

The _Demetrius_ went to work immediately. Dean ordered all forward weapons trained on the flanking Klingon cruiser. Constello, meanwhile, rushed up, took station on the starboard side of the _Demetrius_, and began firing alternating patterns of phasers and photon torpedoes at the most forward of the Klingon heavy cruisers.

Macknair could see that Constello's gamble had paid off instantly. The flanking D-7 turned to the _Demetrius_ while the _Saladin_ and the battle cruiser _Bogart_ fired on the lead D-7, causing the Klingon ship to move off course and cause a hole to open between the two.

"Captain Hawthorn, you are ordered to flee the system at your maximum speed." Constello had told the _Saladin_'s Captain.

"This is against my express wishes to remain, Captain." Hawthorn replied sternly.

"Bill, if I make it out of here alive I'll make sure to note it in my log. Now get the _Saladin_ out of this sector now or you'll never make it."

"Very well, Ray. I'll get underway now, but not before I leave a little 'going away present' for our friends out there."

Hawthorn had the helmsman engage full impulse power and got the cruiser moving at her safest possible speed. As she neared the Klingon cruiser, she fired another spread from her accelerator cannon, severing the bridge section and causing it to fall away from the main hull in an impressive explosion of debris and light. The _Saladin_ then sailed untouched from the battle zone and out into space.

Constello watched for a moment as the old ship fled the system, her impulse engines red hot and leaving a wake of residual plasma in her trail.

"Take care, old friend." Constello said to the image, then turned his ship back to facing the remaining Klingon cruisers.

Dean Macknair had just released the last of his photon torpedoes at the enemy cruiser he found locked into his firing computer. The enemy Commander must have had a hell of a helmsman, because the last two volleys from the _Demetrius_ missed entirely.

"Status of the Klingon cruiser?" Macknair asked to anyone that was listening.

Lieutenant Dobbins, the ships junior science officer, was the first to speak up. He had been called to the bridge only moments before to replace the ships official science officer, Commander Meadows, who had been injured at his post. "The Klingon vessel is moderately damaged. Their shields are at twenty-percent of normal output. Life signs are sporadic."

"Then let's not waste any time. Helmsman, plot your best pursuit course. I want to get right on his tail."

"Aye, sir. Executing course change."

The _Demetrius_ came about hard, much harder than the Captain had been anticipating. Everyone on the bridge had to grab a hold of something to keep from falling from the chairs during the maneuver. However, once it was complete, the _Demetrius_ was right on the stern of the crippled Klingon cruiser and gaining.

"Mr. Burrows, target all weapons and fire, point blank pattern!"

The phaser shot out from the upper hull of the _Demetrius_ and impacted with the Klingon ship in a shower of sparks. The rear of the vessel lurched up, causing the ship to lose attitude control and begin a forward tumble. Two more shots of phaser fire lanced out from the _Demetrius_, putting an end to another Klingon warship.

"Great shooting, Mr. Klebso. Remind me to put you in for a—"

Macknair's words were cut short as an impact registered against the _Demetrius_, and then another. Macknair—not to mention a few of his crew—fell from their chairs as the disruptor hits registered across the _Demetrius_'s hull. Before Dean could get back to his feet there was another jolt that sent him tumbling towards the aft stairs that led to the upper deck of the bridge.

"Multiple impacts, sir!" Dobbins yelled. "Damage to decks four, five, and seven. Hull breach on deck eight."

"We're not going to last long out here in the boonies!" Macknair said as he got back to his feet. "Helm, bring us closer to the _Bogart_. We'll need their cover." He hit the intercom button on his chair. "Florian! We need more power to the shields!"

"I'll see what I can do down here, sir. The engine room is a huge mess right now. We're doing everything we can to contain a coolant leak at this point." The chief engineer had replied.

Captain Constello moved the _Bogart_ into position to protect the incoming _Demetrius_, but the situation looked hopeless. There were five Klingon heavy cruisers still in the area, and only two Federation ships left to fight them. Of those, only the _Bogart_ was relatively untouched.

"Captain Constello, we're in pretty bad shape over here." Macknair said over the secure communications channel.

"We'll do our best to protect your flank, Dean, but the Klingons are coming in for the kill. Sensors are showing the remaining cruisers are surrounding us at this point."

Dean swallowed hard, then wiped his brow with his sleeve. Only when he looked at his shirt did he realize that it was probably as soiled as the rest of his uniform was, and that wiping his brow probably made the mess on his face worse than it already was.

"I guess there's no point in hoping for a last-minute rescue, is there Ray?"

There was a soft, quick laugh from the other side of the speaker. "Guess not."

"Well, if we're going to go out then I'm going to try and take as many of them as I can." Macknair said, straightening his tunic and dusting off some of the bits of debris that had accumulated on the armrest of his chair.

"I understand, Dean. I'll hold them off for as long as I can while you get ready." Constello said.

"Thanks." Dean said, smiling at the image of the _Bogart_ on the view screen. He signed off the channel and looked to his science officer. "Mr. Dobbins, prepare to execute Starfleet Order two-zero-zero-five."

"When,sir?"

"On my signal." Macknair said, then turned his attention back to the view screen.

The _Bogart_ aimed its forward batteries at the nearest Klingon ship. The photon torpedoes streaked out from the hull and impacted with the enemy cruiser, but not before its comrades could pounce on the Federation battle cruiser. From three different sides the Klingons began showering the _Bogart_ with heavy disruptor fire. The _Bogart_'s phasers streamed in a half dozen directions almost simultaneously. Almost all of them scored hits on one Klingon ship or another.

A fourth Klingon cruiser—on the port side of the _Bogart_—fired a salvo of torpedoes that knocked out the large cruisers shields on that side. The _Demetrius_ limped in to try to form a buffer between the oncoming Klingon ship and the opened in the shields, but the little Federation destroyer was barely able to get into position in time before the Klingon ship took advantage of the situation. There was a blast of disrupter fire, intended for the wounded _Bogart_, which struck the _Demetrius_ broadside.

The fifth and final Klingon D-7 was now in firing position. It fired its photon torpedoes and took out the aft shields of the _Bogart_ while three others took out the starboard shields. Macknair, his left arm bloodied and his head throbbing from a concussion, saw on the view screen that the _Bogart_ had stopped firing its weapons.

"Her fire control computers must be down. Won't be long now…"

Dean looked over to Dobbins, the only member of his bridge crew that was not dead. "Activate the self destruct system." Macknair said softly.

"Sir, the self destruct system is offline."

Macknair looked to the view screen as two of the Klingon vessels moved into attack position, preparing to deal their deathblows on the two dying Federation starships.

"Mary…I'll see you soon."


	21. Epilogue

Epilogue

Stardate 4012.024

The snow had been falling gently for almost two hours now. Even with the advances with Earth's weather modification net, the technicians were asked—on occasion—to let mother nature have her way with the climate. It was felt that the planet was designed a certain way, and to constantly interfere with the Earth's natural cycle of weather patters could be detrimental to the population. There were times when things like hurricanes, flooding, and windstorms would ravage the Earth. However, being that it was Christmas Eve, the technicians who monitored the weather were told to shut down the system to give the population a white Christmas, something that hadn't happened in quite a few years.

The Federation President, Alohk Ixan, sat in his chair and gazed out one of the large windows in his office at the vista before him. In the background, the Eifel Tower sprung up from the white blanket that surrounded it like a giant spire pointing to the heavens. He had been thinking of the events of the past few months, about the advances the Klingons had made into Federation territory, and the skirmishes and battles that—at this very moment—could be waging right now in some distant sector of Federation space.

The intercom on his desk began to beep softly, letting him know that his receptionist wished to speak to him. Alohk knew what the young woman at the front desk was going to say, and he had been looking forward to the forthcoming conversation since earlier that evening. He turned in his chair and pressed the button that would signal the receptionist that he was about to speak.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Sir, Starfleet Command is here to see you."

"Very good. Send them in."

The large wooden doors, emblazoned with the logo of the Federation of Planet on each, gently slid side-to-side and into their alcoves as Admiral John Murdock entered the office.

"Mr. President." Murdock said as he strode to the great antique desk of the President.

"John, it's good to see you. Thank you for coming so quickly. Please, have a seat."

"Thank you, sir." Murdock said as he slid into the padded leather chair in front of the desk. "It was really no trouble at all."

"It's Christmas eve, admiral. I'm sure you would much rather be spending time with your family. How is Susan, by the way?"

John was glad to be on almost informal terms with the President. They had known each other for many years, since well before either of them had acquired major positions of influence in Federation affairs.

"She's well, sir. Bradley is on leave from Starfleet Academy and is taking care of things while I'm here."

"Excellent. I understand he is graduating after the next semester."

"Yes, sir. That's correct. He's made the dean's list three years running." Murdock said with obvious pride.

"Has he made any decision about where he would like to go for his first posting?" Ixan asked/

"There's been some…disagreement between us on that point."

"Oh? How so?"

"To be honest, given the current situation with the war, I've asked that he join me at Starfleet Command as an assistant."

Alohk Ixan could already see where this was going. "I see, And he's requested a front line assignment, is that it?"

"Yes, he has, and in no short order. I've made some calls out and pulled in a few favors. The _Constitution_ will be back in port in a few months. Bradley will be assigned to that vessel."

"Well, it could have been worse. The _Constitution_-class has met with every expectation and surpassed it. It's been Commodore April's shining achievement."

"Speaking of Robert, have you heard from him?"

"At last report he was at Starbase Fifteen supervising the completion of construction of the base. Since then we've heard very little from that sector." The President replied.

"Speaking of reports, sir, I have my briefing ready."

"Let's have it, John." The President said, resigning himself to the news—good and bad—that he was about to receive.

Admiral Murdock opened his briefcase and withdrew his electronic style that contained all the notes he had prepared for his briefing to the President of the Federation. He pressed the initializing button and the screen lit up with the paragraphs of statistics he would need for the review.

"At this point, sir, it's simple numbers. The Klingons have more ships than we do. In the last several months we've met defeat time and time again. At over three-quarters of the engagements the Klingon's have forced three-to-one numerical odds of their ships over ours, and sometimes as much as four-to-one."

"Yes, yes." The President said with resignation. "The Federation council has been debating that issue for the last several weeks. Half of them suggest that these odds were due to a lack of intelligence gathering on our part, while the other half blames the bureaucracy that emerged after the war with the Romulans for the lack of funds for starship construction on our part."

Admiral Murdock had heard of these arguments. John tended to believe that both parties were partially right in their assumptions. The sever lack of starships on the part of the Federation was the major hindrance in their war effort against the Klingon's. After the Romulan war, the politicians had thought that having fewer, but larger and more capable ships, was the best deterrent to any aggressor that would challenge the Federation. Unfortunately, they were now seeing the flaw in that decision, and were now rushing to complete any shipyard that was capable of producing a greater number of smaller ships at a much faster rate of production.

"Yes, sir. However, even with our lack of available ships, we have managed to slow the progress of the Klingon advancement into our territory. While the Klingon's have more starships at their disposal than we do, Starfleet Intelligence believes that they are lacking in overall tactical experience to command such large forces. They've found that, in engagements where the numbers of opposing ships are close to being even, we have bested the Klingon's in almost every encounter."

"That's good to hear, Admiral. It's a credit to your leadership and guidance that our forces are so well trained."

"Thank you, sir. Our fleet captains have made some…out of the box tactics from time to time…but it appears that our forces were mostly prepared for this conflict. To mention just one instance I would cite the battle that took place in the Rebonet system just ten days ago, sir, as one example."

The President had—just recently—been made aware of the skirmish that took place near Rebonet. A large Federation convoy under the command of Commodore Jarv Maxwell was en route from the Deuteronomy system to a front-line repair facility, when a small task force of Klingon cruisers and gunboats discovered the convoy. The Klingons, not observing any close support for the small Federation group, moved in for the kill, only to discover that the Klingon forces themselves were the ones being baited. The starship _Defiant _and a cover squadron of _Baton Rouge_-class cruisers destroyed or captured all eight Klingon vessels.

"And what about the reports of the Romulan government at this time?"

"Yes, sir. As of this stardate, activity along the Romulan neutral zone has been relatively light. There has been no detection of Romulan vessels inside the neutral zone for months. Never the less, the situation at the border can only be described as tense and uneasy."

"Explain, Admiral." Alohk asked as he steeped his fingers on top of his immaculate desk.

"Well, sir, what I mean is that many starships that would normally be on Romulan patrols have been redeployed to active service against units of the Klingon forces. That means that the area of space that each Federation patrol ship would normally cover near Romulan space has increased by more than sixty percent. If any additional ships are withdrawn from their patrol duties and reassigned to combat duty, it will be impossible to assure adequate warning against any Romulan incursion at this point. The border outposts themselves are not heavily defended, so they can not be as sufficient a warning system as a starship would be."

The President considered this information for a moment. "An increase of sixty percent? That's far too much for those crews to handle for the duration of the war. We need more ships in those areas quickly, less we fall pray to a Romulan invasion force that is just waiting to take advantage of the situation."

"My thoughts exactly, Mr. President. It seems highly likely that the Romulans will side with either our forces or the Klingon Empire before the war is over, at this point. Moreover, even if the Romulans don't form an official alliance with either power, it is still highly likely they will side with one party just to test any new weapons systems that they have developed. In such an event, there might not be any official declaration from the Romulan government until after they've made successful territory gains into Federation or Klingon space."

The President leaned back in his chair, a cold chill running up his spine. "That's a terrible thought, admiral, and one I don't even want to entertain at this point. Once construction at Starbase Fifteen is in full swing I want two squadrons of Federation ships to resume patrolling the area of space near the Romulan neutral zone, just to be safe."

"Yes, sir. I'll make the arrangements with the base commander immediately."

"Is there anything else to report, Admiral?" Alohk asked, hesitant to hear any further bad news, but knew already that it was forthcoming.

"Yes, sir. I have one final thing to report."

"Go on, Admiral." The President invited.

"Sir, there has been a dramatic increase in the losses of private and commercial vessels. While those numbers are highest near the front lines of the war, the numbers have also shown a steady rise near the Romulan and Tholian boarders."

The President raised his hand to his face, softly stroking his chin as he pondered this for a moment. "What kind of losses are we looking at, John?"

"Well, sir, Starfleet Command still does not have exact numbers. Nevertheless, from the numbers and statistics we currently have at our disposal, we are seeing that roughly point-two to point-three percent of the commercial and private vessels currently operating in Federation space are failing to reach their destinations. Starfleet Intelligence is still piecing together information for this, but we have no hard suspects at this time."

This was indeed unsettling news, to say the least. That meant that, for every one-thousand cargo ships ferrying much needed war supplies to front line units in Federation territory, a full twenty to thirty of those ships were never heard from again. In addition, at any given time, there was a recorded five hundred ships of varying classes and designations shuttling such cargo on any given day just near the front lines of the war, to say nothing of the thousands that routinely patrolled the greater sphere of Federation space.

"So, what you're saying is that it could be due to Klingons, Romulans, Tholians, or just about anyone else."

"To be completely candid with you, sir, preliminary evidence is pointing to the Orion's. We simply do not have enough evidence at this point to file any kind of formal complaint against them, or to even make a blanket statement concerning the disappearances to any other government entity."

"So, our hands are tied."

Murdock looked to the President. "For now, sir. Yes."

"Based on all these findings it seems our losses across the board have increased exponentially over the last year and we have very little to show for it, Admiral." The President said, his words failing to hide the overall fatigue he felt.

"Yes, sir. It appears that way. I wish I had better news to report."

President Ixan stood from his chair and turned once again to the large window behind his desk. The snow was falling more rapidly now. The details of the trees and shrubs at ground level had begun to dissolve as a soft blanket of fresh snow had now covered almost every horizontal surface uniformly.

"Thank you, John, for your report. Please, go home and spend some time with your family. I have some things to think about." The President said, not quite turning from the view.

"Yes, sir." Admiral Murdock said to his old friend despondently. "I'm sorry the news couldn't have been better."

To this, the President fully turned and, with a smile, looked to his friend. "I understand. Merry Christmas, John. Give Susan and the children my best, please."

"I'll do that, sir." Murdock said, standing and moving towards the door to the office. "Merry Christmas, sir." He said as he turned once again and left the office.


	22. Author Support

There is currently a Kickstarter Campgain to fund getting these novels professionaly edited.  
>Check it out here: projects1910450936/star-trek-the-four-years-war 


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